Emit Remmus
by valtoni
Summary: HGSS, Set during seventh year, not HBP compliant. What COULD be better than...? I labeled it as romancehumor, but it is also drama, and maybe even action as well. We'll just see where it takes me.
1. Author's Note

Author's Note:

A story for HG/SS fans. I promise you, nothing will happen quickly in this story… It will happen. Just remember that patience is a virtue.

I like to think that book six didn't happen, so no, this story is not HBP compliant. I do however, like to keep things pretty true to form, and appreciate when characters act how they did/do in the books.

And a blanket statement for everything to follow: I am simply borrowing these characters from JK Rowling, she owns them.

Enjoy.


	2. One

None of these delightful people belong to me. They belong to the eminent Ms. Rowling.

'It's wrong,' she thought 'I'm positive! Potent Potions: Level 7, I've finally one-upped you…'

Hermione Granger had made a habit of pointing out textbook errors since long before her Hogwarts years. After all, publishers made errors, as much as anyone else, and she was the only one sharp enough (not to mention ballsy enough) to point them out to her professors. She had been pouring over this particular intimidating, leather-bound tome since midway through second term last year, when she had definitively decided on her NEWT level classes, and it had seemed perfect. There was no glaring error in content, nor were there outdated or mislabeled potions. Even the spelling and grammar were up to snuff. It had become something of an obsession during the summer. She would spend hours hovering over the pages, researching any ingredient she thought looked suspect. (For two weeks in July, she had a sneaking suspicion that freeze-dried manticore teat was completely made-up…) While she did not succeed in locating anything that she could rub in her blasted potion master's crooked nose, she did come back to Hogwarts knowing the book almost as well as Snape did, much to his chagrin.

Now, on Wednesday in the second week of school she had found it! Snape had assigned a particularly nasty invisibility potion, which would be taking a full two class days to complete. They were working individually on this one, as was usual in upper level potions. "When the time comes for you to produce a consumable potion in the real world, you will not be surrounded by willing cronies who will happily stir for a bit when your hand tires," Snape had explained on the first day.

The potion called for, among other complicated ingredients, powdered highland agate, which provided a lightening of tissues. This quality was intensified by adding dittany root. However to make all of this ingestible, it was to be muddled together with batnip leaves, which soothe the stomach, and set to simmer above a willow fire for a solid thirty six hours. Hermione chuckled to herself as the mistake stood out on the page. If she used simple wizards' chamomile instead of the dittany and batnip, she would get the same result, not to mention reducing the total price of the potion almost in half (batnip was notoriously expensive.) Her hand immediately shot up.

"Miss Granger, what is your difficulty? You should be chopping your roots."

"Yes Professor, but I think I found an err-"

"I believe your duty in this class is to mix and stir. Not to think. However much I'd love you to tell me about the misspelling if bubotuber, I assure you that this textbook is error-less in content. Now if you would kindly return to your neglected roots, you may produce a successful potion."

Hermione sat back on her stool, fuming. She glanced over the ingredients again… Chamomile wouldn't react negatively with any of the other additions, it was something almost every Witch or wizard had in store, and she _was right_! She glanced over at Ron, who had only taken Potions to keep her company (Harry had decided that another year with Snape was about as appealing as flamenco lessons with Voldemort.) The red-head was busy blowing smoke out of his eyes as he attempted to light an obviously wet piece of willow. Smiling to herself, Hermione nonchalantly made her way over to the student's store cupboard.

Hermione had left Wednesday's class confident that her tweaks to the potion were both healthy and safe, but after three hours of tossing and turning, and eventually pacing a well-worn path in front of the bay window of her head girl room, she decided to re-research everything, just in case.

Harry and Ron knew to keep out of her way as she made a war-path to the library Thursday morning. She tore her way through the Persimmon and Psons Potions Encyclopedia, cross referencing Wizard's Chamomile with every other ingredient in the potion until Ron appeared at her shoulder, shoving a danish in her already ink-covered hand and pulling her to her feet. They had exactly thirty-five seconds to get to Transfiguration.

Between classes and during meals Hermione checked and re-checked every reference she could get her hands on, short of going to Snape himself. At midnight, both mentally and physically exhausted, she crawled into her bed, satisfied that she had beaten the system. But there was something more; she was fairly confident that if 'the potions gods that be' had known about the alteration to the potion, it would have been in the book, and since it wasn't, and she was sure that it was the logical thing to do, she came to the conclusion that she had come up with something that the book's authors had failed to notice.

Despite the day's hardships, Hermione Granger fell asleep with a smile on her face.

Friday morning dawned bright, and she and Ron made their way down to the dungeons, giggling about trivial things that would have amused them seven years ago (like the fact that Goyle had a rather large rip in the seat of his pants that Malfoy and Crabbe were trying desperately to pretend didn't exist.)

As the Slytherins and Gryffindors settled into the dark room, Snape swept in, with his usual sunny countenance firmly in place.

"You have two minutes to bottle your potion. The rest of the class will be devoted to testing the ones that pass my inspection. The ones I deem unusable will be disposed of immediately before some impetuous third year manages to poison himself."

Ron made an audible "Gulp," as Snape finished his little speech.

"Don't worry, Mr. Weasley, I will not let any of you die… however tempting that may be."

Hermione was pleased to seen that her potion was precisely the same color and consistency as the example Snape had pulled out of his stores. She stoppered and labeled her bottle and set it in line for inspection. After carefully eyeballing each individual potion, Snape had only disposed of three. As he came to the end of the line, Hermione momentarily noticed that his brow was knit in a most uncharacteristic expression of worry. Immediately it was gone, and as Snape slowly backtracked to where Hermione stood behind her potion, she completely forgot the expression his face held an instant before. It was now contorted into same intimidating guise that mischievous first years knew all to well. He kept his gaze on her as he reached down to grab the bottle. Without blinking or removing his gaze, he wafted the potion toward his nose.

Hermione was sure she was caught, but she did her best not to crumble and just cry out "I did it! It was me; I didn't follow your instructions!" under his careful scrutiny. She pushed down her fear, as well as some bile that was threatening to make a thoroughly unwelcome appearance. 'I'm right,' she thought. 'It's silly to be so worked up just because a teacher is staring me down.'

She managed to lift her nose just a fraction if an inch into the air, hoping that the subtext of this motion would read clearly to her professor: 'How dare you imply that there is something wrong with _my_ potion?'

Snape turned away.

"We will begin with the students on the east side of the room. You will go two at a time, only taking three milliliters of the potion. I will not be responsible for any students who decide to consume more and are left invisible for the remainder of their classes today. You will wait until the prior two have reappeared before you consume yours. With such a small quantity that should take approximately one minute. Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Parkinson, would you kindly begin."

Hermione watched as the students tested their handiwork, two by two. Some of them only succeeded in becoming a little opaque, and while Ron managed to go almost completely invisible, his hair somehow managed to not take to the potion, which resulted in a floating Ron-wig for a minute. Everyone laughed, but as the giggling dwindled away and a very red Ron reappeared, Snape asked a few prodding questions as to what had gone wrong in the potion and what could be done in the future to rectify the problem.

If she hadn't been so apprehensive about her potion, she might have taken more time to appreciate what an incredible lesson this was. While it couldn't be said that Snape had softened since first year potions, he seemed to have become slightly more willing to let the students actively learn. She guessed that had something to do with the level of commitment, not to mention maturity in her class as opposed to a bunch of eleven year olds.

A lively and intelligent discussion on the affects of potions on different hair colors ensued and Hermione realized that only she and Lavender Brown were left.

With one well-practiced glance around the room, Severus Snape, had his NEWT class quiet again, and with one nod toward the two remaining students, they had their bottles uncorked and at their lips.

It happened in an instant. The Brown girl was giggling annoyingly as she faded into a sort of misty opaqueness, when Granger looked at him.

He couldn't quite register what she was thinking, but it seemed as though she were both apologizing to and looking for approval from him. He was just noticing how her eyes reminded him of maple wood, when all-to-soon that intriguing honey-brown faded away.

She was nearly invisible, but he could tell that she had crumpled to the floor. Her muscles seemed to be contracting at an alarming rate as she let out an anguished cry before her entire body cramped up. He guessed that she had fainted from the pain… And if she had done what he was afraid she had done, that was the only relief she would be able to get… for now at least.


	3. Two

Snape immediately scooped up the girl who weighed quite a sight less than he had anticipated.

"Weasley, grab her potion bottle, and follow me to Hospital wing. Everyone else, class dismissed."

* * *

Three hours later, Hermione awoke to hushed sounds coming from outside of her curtained cubicle. It took a second to realize that they belonged to Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey.

She quietly cursed whatever painkilling potion she had been given, even as she attempted to move her head… and found her neck much to sore to bother with. She was trying to hear what they were saying, not because she particularly wanted to eavesdrop, but because she couldn't turn away, she didn't want to try to go back to sleep, and she couldn't think straight. She was feeling logy, and couldn't concentrate on the topic of conversation.

It was a terrible sensation for someone whose thoughts were usually so organized and thorough. She was remembering bits and pieces of what had transpired. The thought most clear in her head was that she had nearly killed herself because of some ridiculous personal vendetta against a teacher… a teacher that had carried her up four flights of stairs to the hospital wing. But she wasn't sure she hadn't imagined that bit...

Her jumbled thought process was interrupted by a cheerful, "Well, look who's up and about, Minerva! I was beginning to think that she'd sleep through the night. Here, deary, eat this chocolate, you'll be good as new in a few days time."

As she raised her hand just a few inches to grab the bar, she caught sight of her skin for the first time. It was something of a shock to see the far wall through her palm. This must have registered on her face, because Pomfrey said, "Don't worry, Miss Granger, with another dose or two of Severus' counter-potion, you'll be right as rain." And with that the school nurse swept away.

McGonagall was just turning to leave the patient in quiet repose when Hermione spoke.

"Professor, wait. I, um, what happened? I mean, I know I shouldn't have messed with the potion but what went wrong?"

"Miss Granger," replied her head-of-house with a smile "Eat your chocolate."

"No, I'm fine," Of course this was a lie, Hermione felt as thought she had just been a part of the world's strongest man competition, severe muscle fatigue and a general stiffness dominated from head to toe. "I'm sorry."

"It is fine, Hermione. It is not the first time an adventurous and bright student has decided to depart from a professor's given instructions. Some people simply need to find out how things work in their own way. However, since you deliberately didn't follow instructions, and you endangered not only your life, but anyone who came in contact with the potion you produced, Professor Snape has asked me to discipline you as I see fit."

Hermione kept silent, but was thinking, 'Fair enough, I guess I've got what's coming to me.'

"It seems, though," continued McGonagall "That you have quite a few questions regarding your… tweak… to the potion. If you are well enough by tomorrow evening, you will report the Professor Snape's office for detention. I will see to it that he explains what you did wrong."

As McGonagall left, Hermione thoughtfully chomped into her chocolate bar.

Five minutes later her musings were interrupted by Harry, Ron and Ginny who had stormed in wielding ridiculous cauldron shaped balloons.

* * *

After a fitful sleep in the hospital wing, Hermione was back in her own quarters by 10:30 the next morning. She was dutifully sipping the medicine that she assumed was "Severus' counter-potion" and contemplating the look of her flesh. It was almost back to normal, but it had a see-through quality that she couldn't quite place. Her muscles were still dreadfully tired, and she lay down in her four-poster with her portable CD player's ear buds firmly in place. Batteries worked on Hogwarts' grounds, even if other kinds of electronics didn't. She may be a witch through and through, but there was something about muggle culture, especially the music and fashion, that she greatly preferred to the rather antiquated style of the wizarding world. As Cake coolly belted out their version of Aretha Franklin's Respect, Hermione realized exactly what her skin reminded her of. Her Grandma Granger had had the exact same translucent quality for the last few months before she died. 

It seemed nearly impossible that Snape would willingly answer her questions as to why her version of the invisibility draught had gone awry… but that wasn't going to stop her from asking them. Despite herself, she looked forward to the detention. Hermione Jane Granger was never one to pass up a chance to learn, and she saw this almost as an extra lesson.

Of course, she would have to tolerate all of the information she so desperately wanted coming out of someone who had irked her for so long. Ever since her eighteenth birthday when she had started going to Order meetings at Grimmauld Place, she had begrudgingly accepted that Snape was, in fact, trustworthy… something Harry had believed under Dumbledore's gentle duress since early in their sixth year. Despite the trio's personal antagonism toward their professor they had come to see him as vital to the Order's cause. She tried not to dwell on exactly what it must be like to convincingly act as the Dark Lord's minion…how terrible it would be to have to be forced to go to someone you hated on their whim… to be marked forever for a childish mistake you made on you eighteenth birthday. She shuddered.

Of course, she told herself, that didn't stop him from being a complete fuckmook in class.

* * *

Because she was feeling a little self-conscious about her complexion, Hermione opted to stay in her room for dinner. She had been munching away on mac and cheese, keeping an eye on the clock, and at a quarter to seven, she hopped off her bed to put a notepad and quill in her oversized purse. She wanted to be prepared if Snape was going to have her research her error. As she was stepping toward her door (elated that she was once again, going to be undeniably punctual, something that most of her generation was completely incapable of) she caught her reflection in the full length across the room. 

She physically jumped as she realized that she was about to confront Hogwarts' most intimidating, no to mention intellectually elite professor in her ducky pajamas. Rushing to the closet, she immediately shoved aside her robes and cloaks. It was almost a subconscious decision, but wearing muggle clothes was the best option to piss Snape off… Slytherin's notions of pure-blood superiority and all that mumbo-jumbo. She grabbed a clingy red turtleneck and some dark-wash skinny jeans, and was out of the door at ten 'till.

* * *

At exactly thirteen seconds before seven, a knock came on Snape's office door. 

He fleetingly thought that it must be another professor. Teenagers never managed to arrive promptly. It was one of the many things that annoyed him about his students. If it was Minerva again, urging him to tutor her young Gryffindor charge, and not to lose his temper while he explained the ins and outs of a potion she wasn't responsible enough to brew right the first time, he was sure he would lose it.

As he rose from his desk he continued to fume. 'Hadn't I asked_ her_ to punish the insufferable know-it-all. It's not like I don't have enough to do around here: educating the quivering masses of young minds, grading essays that get more brainless each year… and now _babysitting_? Not to mention…'

Snape glanced down at the inside of his right forearm. He pulled the sleeve of his robe down before he opened the heavy oak door with a delicate flick of his wand.


	4. Three

Hermione schooled her expression as the door opened in front of her. The last thing she needed was to be chastised by Snape for grinning like a fool for seemingly no reason.

Of course, there was a reason. She had knocked before the clock struck seven. It was know some seconds after the hour… it was he who had delayed the appointment. She began a mental tally. _Snape-0, Hermione-1._

"Miss Granger, usually when a door opens, that is the queue for whoever knocked to enter," snapped Snape.

"Sorry, Professor," mumbled Hermione as she shuffled into the dimly lit room. "I'm here for my detention."

Trying hard to ignore her obvious statement of fact, a habit that he hated almost as much as tardiness, Snape continued, "You will tidy and re-label the first year's cupboards tonight. You may leave when you are done. Do not disturb me unless you catch something on fire. Detentions will take place for a week. If I believe you have learned your lesson they will cease after that time."

Hermione just stood looking at him. She was sure that McGonagall had spoken to him about discussing what had gone wrong yesterday. He, however, seemed oblivious to the fact that he was giving detention to an intelligent young woman and not an impetuous first year that had been lighting outgassings on a Bunsen burner.

"Well, get to work."

At the command, instinct actually turned her and led her about five feet toward the cupboards. As she stopped, she couldn't help thinking, _and Snape has tied it up, 1:1!_

She turned. Snape was settled behind his desk looking as though he had been that way for hours, carefully marking essays with an impressive quill dipped in red ink.

"Professor…"

His look as he lifted his eyes from the paper in front of him silenced her.

"I don't see any flames, Miss Granger, and I assume that you are not yet finished, so why, pray tell, are you still standing in front of me?"

"I wanted to ask you what went wrong," she ventured.

Snape was on his feet in an instant. He was visibly exasperated, but as he massaged his jaw with one long-fingered hand and paced just a few short steps back and forth behind his desk, Hermione saw him work his temper into something he could control.

"Miss Granger," he said, "You failed to follow the instructions. You are a child who took it upon yourself to re-write one of the most complicated potions in the curriculum. You could not possibly have expected that this was in _any_ way a good idea. And now you ask we what went wrong? Well, I will tell you: your disobedient and self-destructive attitude toward one of the most dangerous arts in existence was what went wrong, your disregard for my professional instruction! "

She was determined not to let the tears threatening to escape from beneath her tightly shut lids fall… not in front of him. When she opened her eyes she fixed him with a penetrating, (if slightly red and blotchy) stare.

"No. I suppose it wasn't a 'good idea', as you put it. And I know that if I had followed instructions nothing would have happened. But I'm afraid you misunderstood my question. What I meant was: what went wrong _in the potion_?"

"I really don't have time for this," retorted Snape, but even as he said so, he motioned for the girl to take the seat opposite him and pushed the pile of essays to the side of his leather-topped desk.

She sat down and looked up at him expectantly. He noticed for the first time that her complexion was much more translucent than was usual. The color of the turtleneck she wore only succeeded in making this fact more apparent.

"You added compeleo liquidus in place of the dittany and batnip. Correct?"

It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact and Hermione merely nodded. _Leave it to Snape to use its scientific name_ she thought.

He continued, this time in a voice almost to himself.

"Yes, I thought that very same thing when…."

He stopped abruptly as though he had said something he shouldn't have and continued in the same business-like voice he had begun the conversation in.

"What you forgot to take into account, Miss Granger was the willow smoke."

The realization that she had spent all her time researching the ingredients and completely forgot to even glance at anything regarding the cooking method hit her like a ton of bricks.

"Shit," she whispered.

Snape almost couldn't hide his small smile as the girl firmly slapped a hand over her mouth. She had turned the color of her sweater, but she obviously had more to say than that highly inappropriate expletive on the matter.

"Of course! I'm an idiot. You can never mix chamomile and Highland agate with willow smoke…"

"Correct. Those three ingredients are the basis of very powerful diminishing potion, something very dark, something that you nearly replicated yesterday."

"Right, like the one Voldemort commissioned you to make in 1995! You should know, you're the one who developed it…"

Hermione trailed off as she realized what she had let slip. Snape looked across his desk at her, coolly and evenly.

She couldn't help but try to talk her way out of the situation.

"I, I read a lot… about potions. And I'm trying to help Harry out, so I like to know what Voldemort's tools are… and there you were once. Who wouldda guessed it? I, um ,I…"

He continued to look at her with those ebony eyes as she spouted off her diarrhea of the mouth. She was so used to seeing anger and power in them that she lost what little was left of her train of thought when she saw that now they held something else. _Regret? _She thought.

"It doesn't matter, Miss Granger. I expect the members of the order, especially the ones as untrustworthy as you, to have done some research on my history."

They sat in an uneasy silence for what seemed to Hermione like a lifetime.

"I know," she said "that it was well after you had left Vol…Voldemort. You probably could have come up with it in your sleep, and according to Modern Dark Potions and their Origins it took you months. You were stalling."

For all she knew he hadn't even heard her. He was inspecting his quill, turning it over in his hand when he finally spoke.

"Luckily it didn't cause enough pain to be put into the Dark Lord's regular rotation for torturing people. No matter how deadly it was, it didn't hurt enough to satisfy him."

He said it in a small voice, something that didn't fit his impressive black garments and his strong features. He couldn't help feeling as though he were in uncharted territory. He never spoke of his more secret life with anyone other than Dumbledore, and then only when it was absolutely necessary. _Hm, _he thought to himself, _I never discuss any part of my life with anyone…_ And here this insufferable girl was looking at him as though he were a hurt puppy she had found on the street.

Snape unnecessarily cleared his throat, and placed a classic hard expression firmly on his face, transforming again into the dungeon bat of children's nightmares.

"Well, Miss Granger, do you have anymore questions pertaining to your disaster with the potion? I'd like to get back to work now."

"No," she replied blandly.

"Then we shall call it an evening. I expect you to report here tomorrow at the same time to continue your punishment. You are dismissed."

She unhurriedly picked up her purse and headed away from his desk. As she reached the door she turned once again to face him. His nose was once more bent down toward an essay that was being marked within and inch of its life.

"Professor," she said, "Thank you."

She took the last step toward the door when his voice stopped her.

"Miss Granger, the next time I tell you to not dick around with a potion, I suggest you listen. I assured you that the text was error-less in content... I'm sorry you chose to not trust my word."

Hermione stepped out of the door and walked quickly up the half flight of steps leading into the rest of the school. As she rounded the corner, she flattened herself against the cool stone wall and let out a sigh. She couldn't believe the conversation she had just been a part of.

_And did Snape really say 'dick around?'_

She couldn't help but chuckle as she made her way back to the Gryffindor common room.

After sitting around with her friends for half an hour or so, Hermione had stomached all the Quidditch talk she could. She made her way back to her room and sat for a while with a purring Crookshanks on her lap. She reached into a pile of books next to her bed, and dug out her copy of Potent Potions: Level 7. For some reason she flipped to the front…the title page. Its publishing company was prominently displayed directly beneath the title, and names of seven editors were neatly listed below. Near the bottom, however, was a small byline that she had never noticed before.

'Written by Severus Snape, Master of Potions'

Hermione closed the book and smiled at her own mistake… and at the realization that her potions professor had been to shy to just tell her why he was so confident in his appraisal of the book's accuracy. He was being modest.

* * *

As the girl closed the door behind her, Snape slid his head onto the heel of his hand and turned a shade of red that no one on the planet had ever seen on his normally stoic features… he had said 'dick' in front of a student. 


	5. Four

Whoops, this is now re-posted… I changed just a few little things.

Author's Note: Sorry for the miscommunication about time in this story. It takes place in 2007, purely because that's how I began thinking of it. I know it's not canon, but this is fiction, and FANfiction to boot. We silly writers don't like to be bound by frivolous restraints like time.

Now let us continue the absurdity…

* * *

After an intense day of grading and lesson-planning, Snape was happy to escape into his quarters for a much deserved sleep. It was still early in the evening, but it was rare that he was done grading early, and as had no engagements with either the faculty or the Order, he was already tucked under his deep indigo chenille duvet, with a Charles Bukowski book in front of his nose.

He had read about a quarter of the short poems and barely touched his dinner: a mug of tomato soup that was perched on his bedside stand.

"_Hank, how are you doing?_

_It's like sucking seaweed out of a rabbit hutch_

_That doesn't make sense,"_

he read.

He paused and laid the book on his lap. He had the distinct feeling that he was forgetting something.

"Seaweed," he said out loud.

He scrambled out of bed immediately and tossed on a black cotton tunic over his undershirt…

_I can't believe I forgot the seaweed!_

His third year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had been particularly abrasive to his senses on Friday, when he had a monster headache, and he had given them an impromptu timed essay on the affects of seaweed in three different potions. Three feet, if he remembered correctly.

He had left them on the desk in his office, and not a one had been graded.

Snape walked into the study next to his bedroom, as it was the only room in his quarters with a fireplace. He snapped up a handful of floo powder in his left hand. His right was busy clasping the mug of soup. With a graceful step into the sooty hole, he said "My office," and disappeared.

As he gathered up the pile of essays something diverted his attention. He thought he heard something quietly tapping the rhythm to "Shave and a haircut" but when the "two bits" didn't' follow, he dismissed it as the old castle sighing, as it was want to do from time to time.

But the last two beats completed the ridiculous tune not ten seconds later. And then it began again.

He looked up. It didn't sound like it was coming from the door, more like a foot or so to the right of it, and near the floor.

* * *

Hermione had been a little put off when she realized that Snape had requested that she be in detention on Sunday. Even Fred and George had only had that happen to them once in their seven years of rule breaking.

She had worked right through dinner on a massive research project for Flitwick, and had raced down to the dungeons, terrified that she was going to be late. However, when she had knocked the first time, and received no answer she just melted down in a puddle on the floor. She would wait for him.

Her stomach was rumbling, but dinner would be over by now, and if she went back to her room to order something, the house elves would be too busy cleaning up the great hall's mess to bother with her. She was never assertive enough with them to get them to serve her promptly… or well.

She pulled out a Robert B. Parker mystery and hoped to god that Snape didn't see her reading it. She tried to justify her terrible taste in books to herself:

_I deserve the metal holiday… I've used my brain all day and will have to do so again momentarily when Snape gets here._

But soon she no longer cared who saw her or what academic challenges the coming weeks held, she was completely immersed in her novel. Every few minutes she would absentmindedly tap on the door to see if Snape had appeared within his office.

Ten minutes later, she had no idea that her knuckles were now lethargically tapping out "shave and a hair cut" on the wall behind her right ear.

* * *

When Snape opened his door, he was surprised to see a curly brown mass of hair at his feet. He cleared his throat.

Hermione jolted back into reality. Looking up, she saw Snape looming over her, and she immediately shoved her book into the depths of her purse, for reasons of self-preservation.

"You're late," she said matter-of-factly as she got to her feet. She immediately bent double again to gather her numerous school books, homework assignments-in-progress, backpack, purse, and pens and pencils that inevitably followed her around wherever she went.

Snape stooped to grab her bag for her, looking as bewildered as his intelligent eyes would let him.

"Late?"

"My detention. Yesterday you said tomorrow, and that's today," she explained, "Sunday."

"Oh yes," said Snape, ignoring her dizzying explanation, and thinking back to their conversation of the day before. There was no way he was going to admit that he had forgotten what he had said.

"Come in,"

Rarely did Snape feel he was completely unprepared for something, but as he motioned for his student to go into his office, he couldn't help wondering what in the world he was going to make her do. Luckily, Hermione answered that question for him.

"I'll just get to work on the first year's cupboards, then," she said.

"Right, right…"

Snape had been grading for just short of twenty minutes when he was interrupted by a small sound. As he looked up, he saw Hermione kneeling in front of the cupboard, her entire body stretched upwards in a yawn that seemed to reach from the tips of her intertwined fingertips, which were fully extended over her head, to the toes of her (in Snape's opinion, rather ridiculous looking) tiny flat shoes. A most feminine sigh accompanied the motion, and he found himself looking away quickly, as though he had caught her at a private moment.

However, as he tried to turn his focus back to a most intriguing essay on seaweed's integral contribution to the headache potion (in which there was, indeed, no seaweed) he couldn't help but realize that the girl in front of him looked wholly dissipated and worn. He remembered then what had originally brought her here on a Sunday night… when both of them would much prefer to be otherwise occupied.

"Miss Granger, you are still looking somewhat ill. You may take a break to go get a drink, and continue in five minutes."

"Thank you, professor," she said (trying not to think about just how crappy she had to look for stone-cold Snape to notice she was still under-the weather) as she closed the cabinet doors and sat back against them on the floor, "but I'm already done."

"Well, you may still go get a drink. I can practically see through you."

"I took the last of the counter-potion yesterday. And I think I probably just need to eat something, I worked through dinner"

Snape had the odd urge to express that he shared this habit, but he censured himself just as he was about to speak. Instead he took a pinch of floo powder and popped his head into the kitchens. A house elf emerged immediately.

"You called professor? What is there I can do?" Said the rather flabby looking elf, who had a thoroughly liver-spotted head.

"The head girl hasn't eaten and if she faints on my watch, Minerva will have me guillotined,"

Hermione couldn't stifle a giggle at the elf's shocked face. He obviously didn't' understand sarcasm and was under the impression that if he didn't bring food immediately he would be responsible for both a fainting and a murder. As he scrambled to find a pad and paper, Hermione went to him, took his wrinkly hands in hers, and said, "Some soup and bread will be more than sufficient,"

With a pop, the elf was gone, and a fully laid service was set for two, complete with crusty rolls and a steaming pot of the same tomato soup that now sat cold, filmy, and neglected on Snape's desk. Hermione quickly went to the chair opposite Snape's and took a spoon in her hand.

After eating as daintily as possible for a full two minutes in silence, Hermione put down her spoon. Snape was hard at it grading papers.

"You know, there is nothing as uncomfortable as eating when someone else is sitting directly across from you _not_ eating," she said tentatively.

"Actually, I believe a student inviting herself for a leisurely dinner in a professor's office is far more uncomfortable. Not to mention unwelcome, Miss Granger" said Snape bitterly, looking across at her with a look that could freeze Satan's tuchis.

Hermione turned beat red.

'I …I assumed, 'cause it just turned up here… I'll just order something in my room…

She paused in the middle of standing up and looked at him with plaintive eyes, 'I was hungry."

Hermione was not expecting that Snape would laugh, but laugh he did…. a deep-throated, snigger of a laugh.

"You pick up on a joke about as well as that house elf," he stated. "And since I also worked through dinner, would you kindly pass me a roll."

Snape had tried to ignore the delicious scents wafting from the soup, because the girl hadn't formally asked him to join her in dining, but as she held out the wooden bowl full of bread, his stomach loudly reminded him that he had skipped both lunch and dinner

Hermione stopped having to try to come up with topics of polite conversation after just a minute or two. Snape was, _not surprisingly,_ she admitted, a good conversationalist. They politely spoke first of the organization system in place in Snape's storage cupboards. That progressed to current class work (Snape learned that Hermione had already completed most of what he was planning to teach during the year at home over summer break.) By the time they were talking about the muggle scientific process and its connection to modern potion making, two finished soup bowls lay long forgotten at their elbows. Hermione was leaning in on her slightly freckled ones, head resting on her intertwined fingers, while Snape was nonchalantly resting the side of his head in one hand, and inattentively twirling a quill in the other.

"I still can't believe you read the _Scientific American, _most people find medical journals so…boring!" Hermione said after the first major lull in the conversation. _Not to mention, Professor PUREBLOOD, that it's a muggle publication,_ she added silently.

Snape nearly let himself smile in response, and he fleetingly wondered if he was getting soft in his old age.

"And I, Miss Granger, still can't believe that you tried to complete the free-mind potion in your parent's garage."

"Well, that wasn't just me trying to prove something to myself… I though maybe it could help Harry."

When Snape didn't respond, other than sitting up a little straighter and lowering his brow, in a way that reminded Hermione of how he always looked at Order meetings, she elaborated.

"It's been getting worse. Harry had been inadvertently tapping into Voldemort's feelings more and more these past few months. I thought…"

_Yes, you do that a lot,_ added Snape wordlessly.

"…that since free-mind potions are supposed to clear away unwanted distractions in your mind, that they might be useful in clearing away Voldemort's thoughts from Harry's. I know it's not a lot, but anything that helps Harry out in this…helps the Order out in this, is worth researching, right?"

"I believe you know what I think about Potter, but I do agree that anything that will give him clarity of thought in the next few months will help. I will begin collecting ingredients tonight. However to be done properly this will take me at least two weeks."

Snape had as well as said that Granger had a good idea in agreeing to brew the potion, so he was baffled as to why she looked so put out.

She was busily arranging her things inside of her bulging bag, and said in a muffled voice, without looking it him, "If that is all for tonight, I'd best be getting on."

She was half way to the door when he realized that his legs had rebelliously decided to move him from his guarded seat behind his desk where she stood, a few feet from his door.

"Miss Granger, actually, there is one more thing." They were standing a few feet apart now, and he noted that she looked as though she needed a good night of dreamless sleep.

"I…" Forthrightness wasn't a quality commonly found in Slytherins and Snape was having a hard time finding the right words. "Did I say something to offend?"

Hermione looked up at her potions instructor, he had abandoned his usual bat-wings for a less ridiculous (in her opinion) shirt, but he was as intimidating as ever. His countenance gave no hint that what he had just said was in any way related to a concern for her feelings. But he had said it. She decided to play the callous, unapproachable role as well.

"You see, _Sir_," she said, drawing herself up to her full height and pinning him with a look that she had perfected after observing Mrs. Weasley lecturing her children countless times. "It was my idea."

As she said it, the part she was trying to play crumbled with the realization of how childish she was being, and she actually let out a laugh, full and giddy.

"I'm afraid I don't see the joke." He said sternly as she fought to gain control of the embarrassing sounds she was emitting.

"Oh, I… It's just that I was mad that you were going to make the potion, even though I came up with the idea. Childish, I know. I was a complete ass, what I should have said, instead of leaving to go mope (here she let out another giggle) was that I would like to be a part of the potion's creation… He's my friend after all."

"You are aware that by being involved with this, you will be placing yourself in an apprenticeship-like position, correct?"

"Yes, I suppose, so."

"Then for the remainder of your detentions, we will concentrate on producing a free-mind potion. I will not accept tardiness for any excuse, and I expect you to keep up with all of your classes, including mine."

He paused and shifted his expression. Yes, he was addressing her before, but now he was looking at her, his eyes locked on hers, his voice soft enough that anyone more than four feet away would have to strain to hear it…had there been anyone else in the room.

"This is going to be a tough two weeks, Miss Granger. But I think you're the only student here capable of also finding those weeks _fun._"

As he walked back to his desk, his harsh manner returned with a vengeance, to make up for the silly grin he had accidentally revealed to the student.

"You still look unwell; I'd be willing to supply you with a few doses of pepper-up potion to face the challenging weeks ahead."

As she let out a derisive snort, he paused, just behind his desk, and looked at her.

"No thank you," she said with something just short of disdain in her voice. "I'm not interested in your soma."

"Excuse me… soma?" He inquired.

"You enjoy muggle literature…" she said, glancing down at the pocket of his oversized shirt, Snape looked down to see the top half of the Bukowski book peeking out of his pocket. He hadn't realized that he'd put it there.

"…figure it out." And with that she left the room.

* * *

Author's note part 2:

_"Hank, how are you doing?_

_It's like sucking seaweed out of a rabbit hutch_

_That doesn't make sense," _is from _2:07 a.m._ a selection from Slouching toward Nirvana, one of Charles Bukowski's many fantastic books of poetry. And for those of you thinking that Snape would never read anything as saccharine as poetry… I suggest you read some Bukowski. ; )


	6. Five

A/N: First things first: Thanks to all of the fantastic people who have left feedback on my little story…we have fun, don't we?

Oh, and sorry this chapter is so short, more will be forthcoming!

* * *

Hermione spent the better part of three hours talking to Ron and Harry about the potion in a quiet corner of the common room that night. Ron was all smiles and optimism, as he usually was at the mention of any new idea regarding how they, or the rest of the wizarding world for that matter, would survive the next nine months. Dumbledore had been almost positive that something would transpire before the-boy-who-lived graduated from Voldemort's alma mater. 

"It can't be healthy to be feeling what _he's_ feeling constantly, right Harry?" Ron was saying. "This potion sounds like a nasty bit of work though, Hermione, and it'll be even more stressful with Dungeon Master Snape looking down his nose at you the whole time… still, I guess it beats polishing trophies," he finished with a smile.

Hermione assured them both that it would be well worth the effort before bidding them goodnight, although she needed as much convincing herself. As she scooped them into a big three way hug, she noticed that even though Harry was smiling, he seemed withdrawn… mopey even. '_I suppose that's just his way of dealing with it all'_ she noted to herself before peeling away to return to the head girl's room on the second floor.

While she walked she mused on what Ron had said. She wasn't sure if working with Snape could be classified as "stressful"…. but than again she'd never actually worked with him. She'd been graded by him, been criticized as a student, been observed _while_ working, and even (since tonight) debated working. And while it seemed that last week every one of those interactions and her subsequent reactions to them could be placed firmly under the 'stressful' category, tonight that word didn't quite fit.

Hermione changed into her duckies, brushed her hair and teeth, and tucked herself into the covers, all the while searching for the right word. She hated not being able to put a proper label on something. In the hours that followed, she floated in and out of consciousness, never being completely able to fall asleep. Her subconscious was providing her with half-awake dreams and day-dreams which she wouldn't be able to remember the next morning.

But even as her mind returned from a field of clover teeming with frolicking lambs jumping over a bucolic stone fence (she found this method _never_ worked, and only succeeded in fueling her imagination) she couldn't escape the word that was eluding her so thoroughly. As she rolled over, to tuck her curly head just south of her scrunched up pillow in the mattress, an image inserted itself into her dream. Now a man was perched atop the fence. In the dream she only recognized him as a dark stranger, but if Hermione had remembered it the next day, she would be shocked to realize that it was Snape, looking out over the rolling hills, smiling. Well his eyes, at least, were smiling…just as they'd done when he mentioned that he thought she could have _fun_ in the coming weeks.

"Stimulating… the word is stimulating," Hermione said softly to her pillow, just as the sandman claimed her.

* * *

Snape was not faring so well in the sleep department. At three in the morning he had exhausted every book in his study (which was no small feat), chasing the literary allusion that the infernal Hermione Granger had set before him. He was sure that it would be from some sort of fiction…muggle definitely…that went without saying. But which one? 

He had no idea where to begin, and when he realized that he was literally sitting on top of the contents of all the bookshelves in his study after thumbing through most of them, he decided that drastic measures must be taken. He was acting absurdly, what did a little cryptic reference mean… certainly not that he had met his match intellectually?

'_Nonsense old boy, one silly little chit references a word you're unfamiliar with… gibberish most likely…and you tear you shelves apart like an ape with a banana, get a grip!' _And with that he firmly sat himself down in an armchair and stared sullenly at the ensconced clock on the mantle across from him.

Of course, it was no use… it was nearly twenty to three… if he was going to illegally get into a library, he had better do it soon.

Snape apparated directly into the Kensington and Chelsea Library's extensive fiction section.

It was closed, of course, but Snape was never one to bother asking dotty old librarians for call numbers anyway. After thumbing through some titles in the 'A' section (he thought it logical to begin at the beginning) he let out a defeated sigh and made his way over to a little cluster of computers.

He was only remotely familiar with the muggle contraptions, but knew enough to be able to hammer out 'soma' on the keyboard with his two pointer fingers into the search box. It wasn't under titles…or keywords. He was getting bolder and more comfortable with the machine. After carefully maneuvering the curser so it was now hovering over the little 'x' in the top right corner, he clicked down with an awkward wand-work-type flourish…hard.

'_A-ha. Now we're getting somewhere,' _he thought as the internet explorer screen that was hidden behind the library's search window came into view. He simply began typing the word again; luckily the curser was automatically placed in the google search box. Within minutes Snape had found his answer.

As he was preparing to apparate back to school, he stopped himself and quickly made his way back to the fiction section, found what he was looking for and disappeared.

After convincing himself that borrowing books without authorization was a crime he was willing to live with, Snape settled into his canopied bed and cracked open his new literary acquisition with something akin to the excitement of an ape tearing into a banana (not that he would _ever_ admit that to be an apt simile…)

And if Granger just happened to want to discuss the piece of literature, so be it.


	7. Six

On the way down to the great hall for breakfast, Harry and Ron couldn't help noticing the extra bounce in their friend's step.

"You look sickeningly awake this morning, Herm," mumbled Ron, who had neglected to do anything in regards to his numerous cowlicks and sleep-crustied eyes. "What gives, we didn't go to bed until after eleven, and knowing you, you probably studied for hours after that."

"Hm, I guess I didn't actually fall asleep until two or so… but I slept like a rock. And I was always a firm believer in quality over quantity," she said as she grabbed a scone and a cup of joe while the boys sat down.

"You're not joining us?" inquired Harry, noting that Hermione had kept standing.

"No, I think I'll head down to the library for breakfast, and say hello to my dusty little friends, as you call them Ron." She smiled as she roughly ran a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to make it lay flat as she made her way away from the men she had grown up with.

Strolling toward the library, Hermione thanked her lucky stars that she and Ron had stayed close after the most ridiculous three romantic dates in history. As she entered the deserted rows of books, she couldn't help giggling to herself as she remembered their last day as an 'item.' She had actually laughed out loud while making out, and had to explain that kissing him was akin to trying to make out with Crookshanks. Ron had taken this news surprisingly well, and admitted that he was constantly terrified that he would open his eyes only to see professor McGonagall with her tongue down his throat. They had ended the evening laughing for another few hours over a game of chess, which Ron had done his damnedest to throw in Hermione's favor, since he felt guilty about comparing her to their tight-assed Transfiguration professor.

Hermione was taking full advantage of the access granted to Head Girl, and she continued to do so when she made a bee-line for the restricted section. During the sixties, the free-mind potion had provided a loose prototype of the muggle drug LSD, and when brewed for the wrong purposes and taken by those who don't really have thoughts that need blocking, it could prove terribly addictive… not to mention the long-term affects and permanent brain damage when over consumed. It was no wonder it was kept in only a few books in the far corner of the dimly-lit row of shelves.

After sitting with her newly acquired 'dusty friend' and her breakfast for a very relaxed and comfortable half an hour, Hermione gathered her belongings up and made her way down to Charms. She couldn't keep her nose out of the book for the rest of the day. It not only held the free-mind, and many other slightly dark potion recipes, but also proved to be quite the anthology of obscure (and dangerous) ingredients as well.

That afternoon, she even had to be sharply elbowed in the ribs by Lavender during Potions when Snape had completely stopped his lecture on the unacceptability of late and incomplete written assignments to glare at an oblivious Hermione until she put down the book and realized where she was.

She hastily and meticulously did her homework and snagged an early dinner before heading back to her quarters with more than an hour left before the detention.

'_No,' _she told herself, '_Apprenticeship… it's more like an apprenticeship.'_

In all reality, Hermione felt as though she were preparing for her first day at a new job. She did her curly mane up in rather McGonagallesque bun, and chose a pair of black dickies and a forest green, long sleeved crewneck that was rouched at the shoulder seams. It was dressy, but comfortable enough to work in.

* * *

As she raised her hand to tap at the door of Snape's office, she realized that it was standing open about a foot. The door leading into the Potions classroom from his office was also standing ajar, and she quickly made her way into the depths of the professor's domain.

As she entered the classroom, a rich earthy smell met her sniffer. It was complex and sweet, and she couldn't quite place it. She strode to where Snape was standing over a kettle and stopped dead before gently leaning over the burner and scientifically wafting the scent towards her nose.

"That's an intriguing odor… what are you brewing?"

She thought she caught him stifle a smile before he looked up at her.

"That, Miss Granger…"

'_Yes, he is definitely trying not to smirk,'_

"…is my tea."

Her once intent and eager face fell and her eyes widened as she recognized what she had previously thought was the unmistakable scent of earl grey tea.

He tightened his grip on a large, hand glazed mug. "And unless you'd rather begin a discussion on some other fascinating culinary observation, like the color of oranges, we should begin the brewing process."

He swept back out the door to his office after stifling the fire under his teapot with his wand. Hermione turned on her heels and followed him, wordless and embarrassed, back out into the hall. She kept her eyes down and stayed two steps behind him for about a hundred yards before she stopped in her tracks.

Snape must have heard her footfalls cease because he turned to glower at her over his shoulder.

"Sir… where are we going?"

"I don't know about you Miss Granger, but I would prefer not having to hide our progress every evening before your reckless peers get a chance to muck it all up. We will produce the free-mind potion in my laboratory, where it will not be disturbed."

She followed him, sheep-like, up the flight that led to the ground floor, and promptly ran into him at the landing that marked the half-way point.

After brushing herself off, she looked up, mumbling apologies for her clumsiness. He was not paying attention. Instead, he was tapping on a stone in the wall.

"This is the entrance to my lab and quarters. From now on, report to the landing for your detentions."

She merely nodded as the bricks in the wall rearranged themselves to reveal a narrow, arched wooden door. She followed him in to a rather comfortable foyer. There was a thoroughly useless looking hat stand by the door (Hermione couldn't help imaging Snape in a series of ridiculous hats… beginning with one Neville's grandmother wore, boggart style) and a wrought iron spiral stair case leading up a floor. Hermione couldn't see anything upstairs, other that a half wall that must have allowed one to stand on the balcony above and look down. There was another door to their left, next to a slightly ratty armchair. He opened the door and led her through.

It was a fairly small stone laboratory, impeccably organized and clean. On the far wall, under one of the castle's many rose windows was a built-in counter with a basin in the center. The window's admittance of an early evening glow lit the fourteen foot ceiling all by itself. There were two long work tables and a few benches scattered around. On the nearest wall were two tall bookshelves, and as Hermione walked passed them to lay her belongings down on one of the tables, she saw that they contained nothing but potions books.

Snape must have noticed her interest in the new surroundings.

"This is where I do my private work. You can find most any research item you will need on these shelves… and I suggest that is where we begin," he said as he strode forwards and sank easily to a crouch in front of one of the packed shelves.

"I checked out the best formula the library had to offer," she said as she pulled out the book that had been attached to her nose all day. "There were some in a few other books, but this one seemed the most complete."

He stood up slowly and walked toward the proffered book. She noticed that he had abandoned his teaching robes since they entered his own quarters, and had on black trousers and a black cotton shirt. It looked as though it had some stretch to it.

She softly shook her head free of thoughts of Snape's wardrobe (Which seemed to be annoyingly noticeable tonight) and focused on his face as he opened to the index and quickly found the page.

"Yes, this is and adequate recipe..." He tossed the book shut with his thumb inside to mark his place and looked at the cover. "Growlers, Fourth edition. Good, but I think I have an original in my collection." He laid the book on the table. "Unlike history books and literary works, books on Potions tend to get less accurate with editing," He was slowly scanning the shelves. "Trust the original author, not a committee of men armed with inflated egos and red ink quills."

"Here," he said as he pulled out what he was looking for and handed it to Hermione.

It was smaller than her copy, and looked to be some hundred years old. When she opened it, she was surprised to see that it looked handwritten.

"It's just a magical duplicate of someone's private notes!" she exclaimed. But even as she did so, she saw that it was laid out and organized just like her version. She flipped to the free-mind potion. It looked pretty much the same. Except…

"Professor, how in the world are we going to get our hands on unicorn ejaculate?"


	8. Seven

Author's note: Thank you all for your kind comments. And remember, all of this still doesn't actually belong to me. I suppose the plot does. That's about it. Now let's see what those crazy kids are up to…

* * *

"I'm afraid we'll have to jump off of that bridge when we come to it, Granger," replied the now officially amused man. He was uselessly looking through the book she had pulled from the restricted section. She was still staring, agog, at the first edition, and he stifled his inquiry for the book back…even though he ('_or we, rather'_ he corrected himself) needed it to begin the brewing process.

He gave her another minute to revel in her obvious rapture at finding such a unique little volume.

"If you will…" he opened his hand to ask for the book, "We have some work to get to and that is our guide."

She stepped to the side of the counter opposite him and handed him his Growlers. 

He wondered for a moment what her problem was. She was slightly flushed and kept nervously glancing at the little book in his hand… more than that she seemed to be bouncing a little bit… like a balloon . Her hands were gripping the counter and she was obviously trying to hide a grin.

_Honestly, Granger!_ He thought. _Why is it that children never manage to use the restroom before a… _

He stopped himself when he caught the look in her eyes. For someone who was so good at reading people and misleading the people who attempted to read him, Severus Snape had to admit that he was massively wrong in his assessment of Hermione Granger's posture. She was _not_ in need of the facilities; she was utterly excited to begin the potion. Now he could feel the anticipation bouncing off of her. She was on the brink of something that challenged her, and although he could by no means say that he knew the young woman who stood across from him, seven years had told him that challenging her was not something that could happen every day. Her eyes showed a yearning to learn and create and experience.

"Well, professor, are we going to begin some research or shall we stare at the wall all evening?" she finally said with a smile.

The two began a list of ingredients to nab from the stores at Hogwarts, and a shorter one of things that would have to be found else where. They also outlined a list of hardware and equipment that would be needed. After that they set about organizing a calendar of the brewing process, complete with a guide of when to add what ingredients, and simmering and cooling times. This was to be followed to a tee, Snape insisted. And Hermione impetuously pointed out that if that were the case, than he had better get his rear down to Knockturn Ally for the required unicorn product before Saturday, because that was when his precious list demanded that it be put in the potion.

Snape was settled on his stool opposite Hermione, and he regarded her for a second as she continued to copy a second calendar so that they could each have a copy. When he spoke, she just lifted her head to show she was listening, but her eyes remained on the parchment, and the task, in front of her.

"Miss Granger, I am afraid that unicorn ejaculate isn't something that we can just stroll into a shop and pick up."

Completed with the calendar, she lifted her eyes to his face.

"I suppose that Rodolpho's Rank Riches in Knockturn Alley might be able to get some…for the right price. But I shudder to think of just _how_ they'd get it, not to mention the quality and freshness of the ingredient. No. I think I've got a better idea."

Hermione distinctly got the feeling that now was not the time to ask the obvious question. Snape looked… well, he looked just like he always did. Cool, composed, withdrawn, determined, and intelligent…and none of those qualities seemed to invite questions on the subject of how he was to acquire one of the most precious and rare ingredients around.

She trusted his abilities to get it safely, legally, and in time, and decided that a change of subject was in order.

"Well!" she said, with a dramatic flourish of the newly penned calendar that brought it mere centimeters from her nose. "It would appear that tomorrow we are to begin the prep work for the acidic basis of the free-mind-potion, Professor." She shook off the sillily affected manner of speaking that had actually produced a small smile from her teacher. "And it looks like we'll be in here for... Gods, five hours."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he challenged.

But she wasn't pointing it out to complain, and she merely nodded in agreement that, yes, she had indeed been informed of the difficulty of the task, and she was well prepared for the hard work that stood before them.

Snape seemed to pick up on all of this, and as he studied the determined woman in front of him, he realized that with that attitude and wherewithal, she'd be an invaluable commodity to the war effort that was taking over more and more of his time and energy these days.

As they gathered up their things Snape noticed that Hermione's neat little piles had a habit of spreading far and wide, despite how organized she was. There were stacks, books, and various other goodies of hers not only on the long table they were working on, but on the floor below her feet, and a few on a small round table by the shelves, where she had laid her purse. He dreaded untidiness, and looked with anxious trepidation on the next few minutes, when he was sure that she would be frantically shoving things into a jam packed bag, forgetting that the _accio_ spell exists, and asking him for help in wrangling a stray paper that just _has_ to be turned in tomorrow. He'd dealt with this kind before. But no... she was methodically beginning to put everything back. Sitting where she was, with her bag in her lap, she summoned first one pile, then another, until there was no evidence in the whole room that a small Gryffindor cyclone had just blown through.

She hopped off the stool, and went to grab her purse, the only thing that wasn't tucked away in her bag. Her bag... It seemed much too small to Snape. Surely not all of that material could comfortably fit in there?

"Miss Granger, come here."

She had the bag strap across her right shoulder, and it was resting on her left hip, her purse was hanging in the crook of her right arm. She walked around the table to him, without the defiant question on her face that he was expecting. He simply looked at her as he reached out and grabbed the bag from where in sat on her the front of her thigh. She was pulled a step closer to him as he opened the flap to peer inside.

It was really rather remarkable. It looked to hold about four times what the outside would suggest, and there were six glowingly color coded compartments, each big enough to hold at least one text book and many parchment pieces.

"There's one for each class," she explained, "plus another I keep open for whatever extra projects I feel like undertaking."

They were both looking into the bag whose strap was still firmly around her back. When she looked up he was still holding on to the bag, his bowed head not more than a foot away from her.

He looked up and caught her eyes. "This is your doing?"

She had never noticed how much taller he was than her, and she only nodded.

"Impressive." And with that word he dropped the bag, letting the full weight of it fall back onto her shoulder.

He went back to tidying up the already tidy room as she headed for the exit.

"See you tomorrow, Sir," she said.

"Yes…"

She was just reaching the door that lead back out to the landing when he appeared at the door she had just left.

"Miss Granger, I was wondering if you could help me out even further in this project."

"Yes?"

"Inform Mr. Potter of our intentions to give him this potion and let him in on the reasons why."

Hermione stayed quiet not because she was angry or offended at his demand but because she didn't particularly have anything to say. Snape misconstrued her silence.

"…Please…" he said quietly as his previously distracted eyes found a resting place on her long-lashed ones. "I'm much better at the technical portion of this business of potion making; I've always found that when it comes to the people that my potions eventually affect, I'm no better that Longbottom with a cauldron." He looked away again. "And I imagine that would be doubly disastrous considering it's Potter I'm after to help this time."

"He doesn't hate you, you know," offered Hermione. "But I agree that he'd be more inclined to be a willing participant in out little experiment if a friend tells him...that's why I've already told him. He's all in, even with you acting as the brewer." She said this last bit with a smile, and he wondered at her Gryffindor presumptuousness… if it was as admirable as his Slytherin wariness.

She smiled at him again.

As she left, he couldn't help be wary of the presumed familiarity of her tone as she bid him,

"Goodbye, Professor Snape."


	9. Eight

They worked comfortably together, but Hermione couldn't help but wonder if that was simply due to Snape's proficiency at delivering instructions…or her talent of following them. She was in his lab every night that week; squashing and stirring, scrubbing and sifting, and while he was very much the _jefe_ of his own domain, she was more actively involved in than she could have ever wished to be. He approached every new addition and method with her as though he were helping her to develop the free-mind from scratch. They would discuss why the ingredients were added when they were added, and weigh the pro and cons of alternatives to prove the logicality of said ingredient.

On Thursday she arrived only to see a solid blank wall where normally Snape was waiting to let her in. She stepped up to the wall, produced her wand, and began to tap around on the stones that Snape normally tapped with such proficiency. She was just thinking it's odd that she be admiring someone for their exemplary tapping abilities, when she realized that she wasn't tapping the stone, but rather a piece of paper sticking to the wall that had been charmed to look like the surrounding limestone. She pulled it off and read

"Miss Granger:

Take the monkfish scales out of the pickling jar and begin on crushing the gall stones..."

She smiled before she continued, '_No shit, professor, who do you think made that silly calendar?'_

"Keep the cauldron at a low simmer, and mind that the chunks of boomslang blubber don't burn. I will return at 8:30.

-Professor Snape

Post Scriptum: And it's three taps on the fourth down, fifth over, and two on the one directly below it."

She shoved the note in her pocket and quickly entered the foyer. She had entered the lab, set down her stuff and taken out the jar of pickled scales when she realized the situation she now found herself in. She slowly put everything down and walked to the door. The shabby entrance room looked like it had the other three times she'd been here. But oh, how that staircase was transformed. It veritably glowed with possibility. If she were to only wind her way up those magnificent stairs she would probably have a lifetime of stories to share with her fellow Snape-loathing Gryffindors. Those wrought-iron beauties were the path to… to… what?

Did she expect to find dead baby bunnies… goblets of blood… dartboards with Harry's picture taped to them?

She shrugged and turned away towards the lab, and for one terrible second she had the fleeting thought that it was probably nothing more exciting or incriminating than any other bachelor's apartment.

'_Wait…Bachelor…?'_

"Yuk." She said this part aloud as she stood on the middle of his laboratory, as though there was someone there that needed convincing that this was, indeed a disturbing thought… this thought that Snape was not just a teacher, or a death eater, or even a spy. That he was a person, one to whom many titles and labels probably applied that she and her brainless friends had never even thought of. Perhaps even some qualities that are more difficult to label.

"Definitely yuk," she said again to convince whoever it was who needed convincing.

The sound echoed back to her in the large empty room.

* * *

Snape did indeed arrive at eight thirty, as his note said. He'd been in a meeting with Dumbledore and was not in the sunniest of moods.

He had left Granger alone because he couldn't call off their detention last minute. '_Alone to rifle through my personal belongings, probably_.' He had hoped that she would become bored and get to work after not too long. The last thing he needed was to find her in the act of snooping; he would than have to reprimand her for something he had been expecting.

As he got his wand out to tap, he hoped that she had enough sense to keep an eye on the clock. He left the time of his arrival specifically so he wouldn't have be place either of the affected parties in the uncomfortable positions of Found Snooper and The Affirmably Snooped.

Granger had comfortabley draped herself sideways over the ratty armchair in his foyer and was intently scribbling on what looked to be an essay. He must have raised his eyebrows or made some other inquisitorial expression as he took off his frock coat to reveal the long sleeve black shirt and black slacks that were his off-duty clothes, because Hermione explained,

"History of Magic, this one's massive. It basically covers the dawn of time to the dark ages, and you know how Binns likes detail."

She had shifted so that now she was sitting correctly in the chair.

"Everything is done for tonight, so I figured I get some of my other homework out of the way"

"_Everything_ is done, Miss Granger? My note left what I wanted you to accomplish."

"Yes. Everything that was on the calendar for tonight is complete. I figured that just because you were gone we didn't have to stop in our tracks."

Snape was out of the room before she had finished her sentence. He was inspecting the potion, and hated to admit it, but it looked perfect. Granger had followed him and was now standing off his right elbow looking into the potion as though it would give her approval.

He changed the subject, which, due to the beaming grin on her face, she must have taken as a victory for her unaided accomplishments.

"So why, Miss Granger, must we use _pickled _monkfish scales"

* * *

The list of ingredients was relatively short that night, and they were done going through the whys and hows by a quarter past nine.

Snape was looking over their calendar and Hermione was packing up her things when she voiced what had been on her mind for the past three days.

"Professor, have you gotten the unicorn ejaculate yet? It's just, Saturday's coming up and…"

The look on his face silenced her. It clearly said _I sure as hell don't need you, of all people to tell me what day of the week it is_.

"I'm sorry, I just get worried about these things, I like to be prepared."

"And I suppose that I, a Master of Potions and teacher, know _nothing_ about being prepared. You're right, I should have let you organize this one. I'm in way over my head, and I can't keep everything in line."

The sarcasm was quickly taking a turn from slightly biting to positively scathing. He had closed the fifeteen foot gap that had separated them a few seconds earlier and was now staring her down.

"It's a good thing that you're here, Miss Granger, to be prepared for me."

He was scowling and she bent her head, ever so slightly as she put the last book in her bag.

She was about to leave when he addressed her again.

"Do not come in tomorrow."

She stopped, shocked, and looked at him. She had never been fired but now she was sure she knew how it would feel like.

He quickly squelched this fear. "Saturday you can come before dinner though, we'll have our work cut out for us.

"Yes…. Professor, you're sure about tomorrow?"

"No ingredients are being added, and I will be here to keep an eye on the simmer. Just take the Friday off and don't ask questions for once, Miss Granger."

She left.

He sat down in the armchair and watched the stones rearrange themselves behind her. He ran a hand over his face. This girl constantly astonished him. Who in their right minds had the audacity, not to mention the skill to proceed on something like the free-mind alone, without the presence of a Master. Not to mention that is was _her_ continuing without _him. _In the past week he'd forgotten how curious and experimental her personality was due to the fact that when it came to making this potion he basically said 'jump' and she said 'how high.' This potion was perfect though. He couldn't help but wonder what she could accomplish after a few years of apprenticeship under a Master and some leave to do as she pleased. She could change the world of potions.

He caught himself.

He needed tomorrow night off from her. She was already taking up more space in his thoughts than he'd ever normally allow.

He decided to go upstairs and assess the damage.

After about twenty minutes of evaluating things like the position of a spare teacup and the angle of hangers in his closet, he decided that either she was very good at snooping, or she possessed more self control than most of the people he had met in his life. There wasn't a hair out of place.

Whichever was the case, there was now another admirable quality to add to the list of Granger.

To convince whoever would have questioned him that the negatives outweighed these positives, and so that there was a verbal record of his _true_ opinions he said aloud to his row of shirts, "Know-it-all Gryffindor."


	10. Nine

A/N : Not my idea, JK Rowlings'. If you _insist_ on sending piles of gems and pirate booty to the genius behind these beautiful characters and brilliant universe, please send them to her… for while I appreciate it, (especially in those iffy weeks between paychecks) all laud and adoration is due to her.

* * *

After her classes on Friday, Hermione completely threw herself into enjoying the day off.

2:25 marked the end of Charms, and by 2:30, she was stretched out by the lake with her feet on Harry's stomach, who was leaning against the legendary oak tree. She absentmindedly answered Ron's occasional question concerning a lab write-up for Potions that was, in fact, due two days before. But mainly she was just enjoying the boys' company.

Often times it comes as quite a surprise to find that one's friends, especially friends that you have known since childhood, are actually fantastic and interesting people. It was easy for Hermione to see them as the first people who had accepted her into that special little 'friends' club, and to love them simply for the fact that they had been there with her for the most important six and a half years of her life. But it was something to look at them and see kind, witty, and intelligent men. ('_Well, at least when they're not trying to evaluate the effects of the Flibber berry, __Ron.'_

She giggled aloud when she thought that if she wasn't her, and they had never met and hadn't been best buds for years on end that she'd still want to be friends with them.

Harry ripped apart an innocent blade of grass into long shreds of verdant confetti and Ron momentarily forgot what he was doing, in favor of poking a snail with his quill that actually turned out to be a rock. But they both just let her giggle. It was better that way.

Not long after, Neville, Luna, and Ginny showed up and the sizeable group played a rousing game of round robin gobstones. Or, at least, Hermione, Neville, Ron, and Luna played.

Harry and Ginny pushed their little marbles at one another a few feet away. Harry was seemingly aware only of the unwarranted amount of ink the tiny little stones liked to spit at the flushed red-head sitting across from him, and when a good time would be to suavely reach over and brush a spatter of it off of her cheek without Ron smacking him. This whole dating thing was still new for both of them, and he envied Ginny a little, who seemed so nonplussed by the gentle taunts and kiss-ey faces that their peers seemed to love to doll out. He momentarily wondered at her audacity and exhibitionism as she leaned over their game to give him a kiss in congratulations of the victory he had just achieved. That idea didn't last long, as he soon lost control of all organized thought, other than "… Lips!... ohh, could this mean.. .later… Boob!"

'_The Boy Who Lived may carry the weight of the world on his shoulders and a violent hatred of Voldemort on his heart, but he is, after all, only seventeen.'_

Hermione thought this as she saw Ron roll his eyes, trying to conceal the smile that gave away his happiness for his best mate and sister. Hermione returned both of these expressions as she rolled the winning gobstone for the championship place, to the applause and laughter of all around her.

* * *

After dinner Hermione took her copy of the Anthology of Thirteenth Century Charms, the Complete and Unabridged Edition outside after escorting Ron and Harry to the front entrance before Quidditch practice. She settled down onto a stone bench that budged up against the castle wall near the stairs leading to the entrance. She tucked her knees up under her chin, letting her canary yellow skirt drape over the knobby joints to keep out the chill that was just beginning to reveal itself. This was the best time of day. The sun was just falling to the tops of the trees in the Forbidden Forest, and the vibrancy of its yellow glow was only out done by the shocking purple that the small puffs of clouds dotted about the sky boasted… or perhaps the blue of the lake or the green of the grass. 

She tied her wrap sweater more securely around her waist, propped the book on the knees, and began reading.

When she next looked up all of the beautiful colors had darkened significantly, but were there nonetheless. A beam of light shot out onto the dim lawn as somebody opened one of the front doors not eight feet away from where she sat.

Professor Severus Snape was walking determinedly away from Hogwarts in long, well-paced strides. He looked over his right shoulder as he walked and then over his left, to where Hermione sat. But by that time he was too far away and the twilight had set in to absolutely. He didn't see her sitting in the shadow of her school.

Without thinking, she got up to follow him. There was something fascinating about his sense of urgency and the length of his legs as they poked out of his frock coat to carry him towards…

'_Towards the Forbidden Forest, Snape?"_

Now there was no way she was going to give up this little adventure. He carried a medium sized black case with him, and as he veered off to where the trees met the lake he pulled out his wand.

Finally letting some of the logic she was famous for seep into her consciousness, she realized that following one of the most dangerous wizards known to mankind into a dodgy forest, full of beasties, _unannounced_, was perhaps one of the more idiotic things she could do in her situation. So she opted for the more logical solution… even if it took slightly more courage than delving into the dark unknown with an (ex) death-eater.

She spoke.

* * *

Snape was just lighting his wand, not three steps away from the forest when a voice stopped him. 

"Professor! Wait, um,"

He turned to see Granger. And she had obviously run out of things to say already.

"Didn't I give you the night off?"

His acerbic tone cone cut through the night air.

"Well, yes, but. No. No buts. I was just reading, and I saw you, and I though I'd say "Hi… what's wrong with that?'

"You were reading here?" he pointed at the ground between their feet.

"No."

"There?" he pointed just to his right

"No."

"Then where, pray tell, were you reading?"

"By the main entrance," She was beginning to feel as though this were the most elaborate set up for a verbal chastising as she had ever seen.

"Than I suppose you must have followed me for…" he slowly looked at the length of lawn back up to the castle, "about three hundred yards. Just to say, 'Hi,'"

The monosyllabic word sounded strange coming from him, but she didn't dare laugh.

"Yes."

Snape suddenly realized that he had nowhere he wanted to go with this conversation. No ulterior motives for making her explain her actions to him. And he felt embarrassed. Not that he would ever show it, but he wasn't comfortable with the fact that someone was trying to be cordial and his immediate response was to humiliate them. Not that it would ever show.

So he changed the subject.

"I suppose you should ask the inevitable question before you explode."

She cracked a smile, big and toothy, but just for a split second.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing out here, Professor?"

"If you must know, Miss Granger…" here he did that incredible smiling without actually moving his lips thing that Hermione was slowly coming to look forward to (unconsciously, of course).

"_I_ _was_ going to go collect some unicorn ejaculate… but I suppose I should now say instead that _we_ are going to go do the same."

* * *

MORE A/N: Btw, so it turns out I kind of love reading comments, and I think it inspires me to write more quickly… I'm already a few pages into Ch 10 which is unheard of for this chronic procrastinator! So please feel free to leave your opinions, fair and foul alike. They feed this beast. 


	11. Ten

A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates, I've been busy graduating high school, and getting my chaotic life in order... Not mine. Rowlings. you know the drill: Read. Enjoy. Comment. Rinse. Repeat.

-valtoni

* * *

The had walked only a few feet into the trees, in a part of the forest that Hermione had never entered before when Snape asked her to light her wand. She stayed just a few steps behind him, and when he stopped periodically in wariness of an unexplained noise or motion, he would protectively put his right arm out and slightly behind him around the front of Hermione. He didn't actually touch her (although the bag he carried did bump against her thighs on more than one occasion) and it seemed to be more of a natural reaction than anything else. She found it slightly amusing for reasons unknown.

Hermione noticed then that he carried his wand in his left hand. He was left handed. She had never actually thought about it before. She supposed she must have noticed it and if it were ever to be a test question: 'True or False, Severus Snape is left handed,' she would have answered correctly, but she'd never actively filed that bit of trivia away in her brain before.

There was yet another crack in the darkened woods and Severus again protectively cast his arm out around the girl's midsection.

'_Damn it!' _he thought to himself_ 'you've done it again_,'Each time this had happened he had told himself that there was nothing in this dratted forest. Certainly nothing that warranted such a strangely protective reaction from him… nothing he couldn't deal with in an instant if it dared to threaten the girl behind him.

This was when he realized that they were still stopped in their tracks. She was looking slightly down and to her right, obviously listening hard, and his damnably independent arm was still extended out in front of her. He knew there was nothing out there, but his continued silence and stillness was obviously reeking havoc on her nerves… why else had she suddenly reached out to grab the back-clad arm that stood out solidly in front of her… with both hands… just above his elbow.

"What is it?" She finally managed to whisper up into his ear.

Here he put his arm down and began walking forward again, being sure not to tread too cautiously. He realized that if he was comfortable in the forest than she would be.

"Just the manitcores and dragons out for their nightly perambulation… on the search for head girl hors d'oeuvres." He said without any apparent joke in his voice.

"Oh, ha-ha," She said, but she was quickly releasing the pent up tension that the frequent, silent stops had produced in her. She even went so far as to walk around him in the path, upgrading the speed of their pace from warily sneaking to comfortably meandering.

She led this way for another few minutes, asking him directions if there was a fork in the path. As she marched on ahead of him, he noticed her shoes… the same ridiculous looking little flat things that he had seen once before. They were caked with mud, and her bare lower calves where spattered with it also.

"Honestly, Granger, we really must find you find some suitable boots," he said without thinking. He stopped for a second; mortified that he had actually just said something so frivolous. She did not notice his pause, or his apparent discomfort at beginning a conversation that held promise of concerning footwear, and footwear alone. She happily continued to charge through the trees as she said,

"No. I already have boots. I just wasn't expecting to go on a forest expedition this evening, and I certainly wasn't going to need my dragon-hides for reading ten feet away from the castle door."

He smiled at her back as she continued her rant, and he couldn't believe that it was actually interesting to hear her stream-of-consciousness opinions on the mundane subject.

"And, of course, I like how these little flat muggle things look. Much better that the school issued ones and even a bit more comfortable too. Yes, I'll admit, my feet are killing me and it'll take an hour to evanesco all the mud from their soles, but they weren't designed for off-roading, so to speak."

She paused, both vocally and physically for a split second. '_God, Snape must think I am the most single-minded, air-headed, trivial person... how long have I been talking about shoes? Fix it, Granger, fix it!' _

"Not that, not that you care about that, Professor." She mentally slapped herself.

"So…" She searched for a safe subject that would give her embarrassed pink cheeks some time to cool off. "How much farther?"

"Actually, I believe we should pause here, and I suggest you get comfortable, it may be awhile."

"Professor, we wouldn't be waiting for wild unicorns too… um. Hmm… Would we? Cause that seems a little…"

"Stupid, dangerous, impossible?" He offered

She smiled at him in agreement as he knelt down to open the black bag and pulled out a few apples. He then removed something that looked suspiciously like a cake stand… and then something that looked suspiciously like a cake.

"Angel food" he answered the question that her cocked eyebrow had posed. "It's all in the bait, and I suppose having a female presence around certainly won't hinder the process."

"Process?"

"How familiar are you with the ranching industry, Miss Granger?"

"Well, I don't hate a nice steak. Other than that…"

Here he pulled out a contraption that could best be described as a large tube with some rubber piping at one end and hose attached to a bag at the other.

"There are times when muggle ranchers need to collect semen from their animals… stud horses and bulls are the most likely subjects, usually to test fertility, and sometimes to participate in artificial insemination of a female animal that wasn't open too… courtship."

Hermione unsuccessfully stifled a giggle.

"And this is what they use." Here he held up the tool.

She couldn't help herself now; she was almost doubled over with laughter.

"Honestly Granger, this is a scientific procedure that is vital to the success of out potion, and I'd appreciate that you treat it as such." He scolded, although his heart wasn't in it.

"Oh, right, Snape, you and I basically helping a unicorn masturbate isn't a _little_ bit funny"

"Not in the least," he said through pursed lips, although his cheekbones were a good two inches higher than normal, and his eyes were dancing with silent laughter. "Now let me teach you the vibrating spell…"

Here she guffawed once more before going into a sort of silent laughter that left her eyes shut and her entire body on the forest floor, as the laughs contorted her little frame. And Snape lost balance as he began to laugh aloud and went toppling from his crouched position in front of the bag to lay on his back let the ridiculousness of the situation sneak in.

Hermione was actually the first to recover, and she sat up momentarily saw her professor's face as perhaps no one had ever before seen it, relaxed into pure mirth and enjoyment, as his chest heaved violently… just before he held up the offending device and had the audacity to begin pumping it in the air as he, too fell into the wonderful mystery that is silent laughter. Her vision of him was obscured as her eyes scrunched once again with laughter. She was again racked with giggles and fell forward from her seated position onto his chest, where she crossed her arms and buried her red face as the two laughed it out.

As the 'Ah-hmm,hms and the "Ah-whoo-hoos' died down from the person who had (_'Accidentally, old boy, get a grip, it was an Accident'_) placed their entire torso on his chest, Snape got up and began arranging things.

"Funny or not, Miss Granger," He said as he put the angel food on the server. "It is something that must be done." He dropped a whole apple into the hole in the cake and pulled out a pocket knife to start cutting the others into thick slices.

Hermione came over and grabbed an apple. She performed a quick charm she had learned from her time at the burrow that would make her wand act as the handle of a knife. The two cut apples in silence for a few seconds.

"So let me get this straight, and I promise I won't laugh this time. We lure a male unicorn to us with (here she gestured at the cake with lay on the ground a few feet away) you stick a receptacle onto it's member and I vibrate it's was to completion?"

"Yes. And we may both have to put a holding spell on its front half. Oh, By the way…"

He took out his wand and she dropped the knife spell and raised hers to match his in a slightly complicated flourish. "_Vibratto… _Repeat. Direct it toward that tree branch." He directed.

A fallen branch began to shake gently.

"Good. Now we wait."

* * *

Night had fallen completely and the new moon was just beginning to be seen over the tops of the trees in the small clearing when Snape sat up and gestured at Hermione to stay still. 

He was staring intently into a thick patch of forest directly in front of them and began to slowly get up.

Then Hermione saw it. With its Clydesdale size and two foot horn she should have been frightened, but all she could focus on was its beautiful, brilliant coat, as pristine as newly fallen snow. Its elegant strength had mesmerized her and she had to snap out of it as Snape finally drew himself to full height and the Creature reared onto its hind legs in nervous alarm.

For a second Hermione thought she was going crazy, but it only took a moment to recognize the voice in her head as her professor's. He was staring at her.

"_Hermione, he's too frightened of me. __Slowly stand and offer him an apple. Relax him."_

As she approached the animal and quieted him, Snape continued to offer the same words of comfort to her as he would have to the animal.

"_Hush now, Whoa. Good boy… That's it Hermione, it's working."_

She relayed some of these endearments to the unicorn, punctuated with a few 'dearies', and cooing noises of her own.

He had soothed her in her initial awe of the animal as much as she had soothed the animal itself.

The unicorn was now fully in the clearing, his mane was being lovingly stroked by the female presence.

It took Hermione a second to notice that string of calming pleasantries that was coming from inside her own head a moment ago was now being expelled from the man standing next to her. Snape had taken the animal's head in his hands and was now cooing words that were nonsensical to Hermione in that black velvet tone of his.

"Un milo, kirie… ise omorfi. Tikanis?

She faintly recognized the 'tikanis' as Greek when he stepped back and said,

"Well, I suppose, we'd better get this over with."

It turned out that during the actual task there wasn't a lot to laugh about. It consisted mostly of lots of averted eyes and an overwhelming desire to be anywhere else.

It didn't take more than 15 minutes for them to have what they wanted, and their donor had collapsed, content and exhausted after his… tryst. Snape had carefully packed the product away and washed his hands with his wand, when he went back to where the creature lay.

"Thank you, old boy." He patted his long white neck.

Hermione watched him watch the creature for a second.

"You know," she ventured. "you might try to bestow a little of that charm on your students from time to time…most of them would never believe you'd be so good with animals from the way you treat children."

"I'm not charming to Hogwarts students?" He joked.

She found it was easier to talk to him when he was crouched on the ground with his back to her. There where no eyes to intimidate, and distract her.

"To be honest, I've found you incredibly condescending to the entirety of my class from first year."

He stood up and faced her. Those ebony eyes twinkled in the moonlight and the light from his wand. She couldn't have looked away from them if she'd wanted to.

"I find it impossible to be condescending to a creature that demands respect."

He held her gaze for just a split second longer than he should have.

* * *

The walk back to Hogwarts was the longest, most silent and darkest of her life thus far… 

and she savored every second of it.

A/N. So, who out there speaks some greek?

i don't really, i just love the language and culture and have grown up around it.


	12. Eleven

A/N: I'm ba-ack. I havn't thought about fanfiction for... god, a year or more, and then about a week ago, I found my original outline for this story in an old folder, and thought to myself, 'That was fun, I wonder why I never finished it?' I guess my original warning about things not happening quickly in this story proved true, huh?

Well, it's the same old drill: I don't own anything, all laud and adoration belongs to J.K Rowling. Read. Review. And forget that all of the characters have already found their happy endings and just enjoy my version of things, will ya?

* * *

With the newly acquired ingredient added, the potion was now ready to be put on ice for the allotted 24 hours. When Hermione was finally ready to leave the laboratory on Saturday night, Snape was ensconced in a worry bubble, working something over in his head.

He was concentrating on Hermione's calendar, where her slender and slightly loopy handwriting clearly said (in not so many words) that Monday was the pivotal point in the formation of the potion: after that it was no longer a stinky combination of ingredients, but a full-blown, if not yet fully cured and tweaked free-mind potion.

"I can't foresee this taking any less than six hours tomorrow. The sublimation process is a tricky business, and the potion will be incredibly volatile as a gas. The sooner we condense it back into a liquid the more potent it should be. But you need to get some recuperation time in tomorrow, this hell-like schedule isn't fit for criminal, let alone a…" He wasn't exactly sure what to call her. "Student."

"Or a school-teacher?" his back was to her but he could hear the sleep in her voice. Her movements were slow as she fumbled around putting her things away.

She walked up behind where he was sitting staring at the calendar, and peeked over his shoulder.

"We both need rest," He felt the very light touch of a warm hand come to lie just above his shoulder blade. "Goodnight."

And before he could respond, she was gone.

* * *

Hermione took full advantage of her Sunday off. She had finished most of her homework yesterday before she went down to the lab, so she, Ron, and Harry were camped out in a corner of the Gryffindor common room melting into armchairs and mulling on anything and everything.

Ron was in the middle of a tirade on the ridiculousness of his father's insistence that he learn how to drive. "I can already apparate, for crying out loud! I don't think when Voldemort finally begins his total war on Wizardkind, I'm going to want to escape in a jalopy! It's just like him and his damn Muggle ob…"

But he was cut off by a groan from Harry as he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, and mutually decided that they finally ask about the obvious headaches that Harry had been having for the past couple of days.

"Is it a regular headache, Harry, or… more?" Hermione leaned in and lowered her voice.

"It's…" he was talking into his lap, with his elbows on his knees as he cradled his head in his hands, "constant. It's like he's always in there. I can definitely separate his emotions from mine, but he's always… present. Last night he was really angry, I couldn't get any sleep."

Ron looked over at Harry. "None?" he asked.

Harry's unencouraging response was to squeeze his eyes shut tighter as he let his head fall into his lap.

"But Snape's getting close with the potion, right?" Ron looked at Hermione hopefully.

"Yes, we'll have it ready this Friday."

There seemed to be nothing more to add to this, and they fell into silence while the flames from the dying fire cast long shadows over their faces.

* * *

Monday went slowly for Hermione. After what seemed like a twelve hour Potions class, when Hermione and Ron were packing up their things, Snape gave a little nod in their direction before he disappeared into his office.

Hermione didn't realized that she had stopped what she was doing, and was looking after him until Ron said,

"He's growing on you, isn't he? Me too. It's amazing the perspective maturity gives you. The old bat is doing more for Harry than anyone, now…and to think not three years ago we thought he was out to get him." He smiled and shook his head.

Hermione snapped out of her reverie and gently pushed his arm. "Well, you may have some perspective, Ronald Weasley, but I don't know where this 'maturity' is that you speak of!" She snagged his potions folder, which had a rather risqué doodle of a large pair of breasts on it, and brandished it at him as she darted out of the room. He hadn't chased her more than 20 feet when a pale little first year stopped their game.

"Hey, you're the head girl, right?"

Hermione put the breasts behind her back.

"Yes."

"Madame Pomfrey sent this for you." He handed her a hastily folded corner of parchment and scuttled off.

Hermione read the note, and set off at a run.

"Hospital Wing. Harry!" she shouted succinctly behind her, and before she knew it, a red-headed rocket had not only caught up with her, but was dragging her along behind him by the hand.



* * *

He wasn't in good shape. Apparently he had begun to seize in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and when they got there he wasn't asleep, but he wasn't coherent or altogether conscious either. He was as pale as Sir Nicholas, and drenched in a cold sweat. His tired body would convulse periodically, but he didn't wake up and his green eyes looked grey as they stared, unseeing, at the ceiling.

Dumbledore came and went, as did Pomfrey and McGonagall. They had been there for over an hour when Ginny came in.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" She was angry, but as she sat next to his bed and took his hand, Hermione saw that anger was truly a secondary emotion. She leaned down to whisper something in his ear, not caring about anything other than being close to him.

"Come back to me. Harry, baby, come back." She kissed his temple, his hair, any part of his face that her lips could reach, and he deeply exhaled a breath they didn't know he had been holding in. His eyes finally closed. She leaned up a fraction of an inch to smile at them before kissing his eyelid.

His hand had reached around her slender neck before she knew what was happening. His eyes were staring once more, not into space as before, but at Ginny. Every muscle in his body was flexed almost to a breaking point as he squeezed her throat.

"You will not stop him from seeing this, girl. He needs to bear witness. He will know what power he dares to face." It was Harry's voice, but not his words. "He will see this come to completion."

And with that he let her go and sat up, wide eyed, staring in terror at something the rest of them couldn't see.

"Stop it, you bastard, leave them alone!" Harry was crying freely now, yelling cautionary threats at a Voldemort that was far away. "LEAVE HIM ALONE... NO!" He lunged forward, collapsing on the foot of the bed in a tight little ball.

* * *

At 10 after 6:00, Snape felt he couldn't wait any longer. If she was going to choose tonight to finally prove her immaturity and unreliability, than so be it. He had made countless potions by himself before, and tonight would prove no different. '_Although having an extra hand to help stir _would_ be nice,' _He admitted silently to himself. Unfortunately the irony was lost to the fates.

He rolled up his sleeves and steeled himself for the evening ahead.


	13. Twelve

A/N: I own nothing, I look for no reward, I wish to step on no one's toes. And please review, kids, momma needs her feedback.

* * *

When Harry woke up night had fallen, and the first thing he saw in the fire-light was Dumbledore's encouraging face smiling up at him from the foot of the bed. Ginny was holding his sweaty hand in her little vice-grip, and Ron and Hermione's voices came in hushed sibilance from outside his curtained cubicle.

"Water?" offered Dumbledore. Harry wondered at the old wizard's knack for always knowing just what was needed as he took the icy glass.

Hermione peeked in, her hair looking as though she had just survived a small tornado. She had the habit of not being able to keep her hands from playing with it when she was nervous, and as she stepped in, she pushed it all to one side and sort of twisted it into a pile, proving that she was as on edge as he thought she might be. Ron followed looking slightly wigged out and extra cautious, as he always did around sick people.

"I'm awake."

"You're awake," said Hermione as she kneeled down opposite Ginny and gave his hand a heartening squeeze. "And you look wonderful."

He managed a small chuckle at her joke, but his smile quickly faded, leaving an uncomfortable silence.

Dumbledore said what they were all thinking, "Harry, we all want to know what you saw, or rather what Voldemort made you see, but our first priority is your comfort. Tell us only if you are ready." And he sat back, conjured himself a cup of tea, and looked as though he could remain there quite comfortably for the next year.

Harry took a sip of his water and sat up more fully, pulling Ginny down to sit on the mattress next to him. Ron came around to take her chair, and gave him an encouraging smile.

He began.

* * *

By the end of it, everyone had tears in their eyes. Ginny's face was buried in Harry's shoulder and Hermione was staring full ahead, unable and uninterested in stopping the tears from falling freely down her face.

"There was nothing you could do, Harry," said Dumbledore. "It was a cruel maneuver to take advantage of your mental connection in this way, but he would have gone through with this attack no matter what. All we can do is wait for the free-mind to be complete. Then, at least, we can save you from any more of these sick games."



Hermione physically started at the mention of the potion.

"Shit." She whispered. And she was gone.

She jogged down the corridor, but her tired legs couldn't carry her as quickly as she wanted them to. She felt terrible, and she was terrified that he would… she wasn't sure what she was terrified of.

She tapped the bricks without a second thought, and ran through the foyer yelling, "I'm sorry, I feel terrible, It was Harry, an emergency…" her words melted together as the tears began to come again, and the stress of the day and how tired she was all seemed to come to a head as her legs turned to rubber beneath her.

Snape couldn't ever remember forgetting a grudge so easily. When he had first heard the bricks move, he was ready to deliver the verbal chastising of a lifetime, when she began to say whatever it is she was trying to tell him, all he wanted to do was comfort her, and as she crumbled towards the floor, he was only conscious of how lucky he was that he could still move quickly in his old age. He was supporting a crying Hermione, her arms clinging around his chest and shoulder, face buried in the crook of his armpit.

He quietly led her to the ratty old armchair, where he delicately deposited her while he conjured a cup of tea and poked it in front of her nose. She was beginning to get it together, the juicy sobs turning into dry sniffles.

She finally looked up and took the cup of tea with a hardly audible "Thank you," She took a small sip, immediately recognizing the taste of strong, unsweetened earl grey tea.

He watched her closely from his perch on the arm of the chair, and although he couldn't see her face properly, he thought he saw a red stain of embarrassment begin to work its way down from her temples onto her cheekbones. He squatted down in front of the chair. She was definitely embarrassed: her wet eyelashes were cast downward , and her still trembling fingers were fiddling with the rim of her teacup.

"I'm sorry. I was acting like a child, I …"

"You have nothing to apologize for." He felt that diverting the direction of conversation was for the best. "You mentioned an emergency?"

"Yes," She was perking up. She was much more comfortable speaking about hard fact, no matter how tough a subject it may be, than about the murky and unfamiliar realm of emotions which she was currently holding in a small porcelain cup in her lap.

"You may want to sit down for this." He gave her a simple nod, stood up, and began to ascend the spiral staircase. It took her a second to realize that she was supposed to follow him.

Her expression at the top of the stairs squelched any questions he still had about whether or not she had snuck up into his apartment last week. She was taking it all in for the first time: the thick, dark rug between the two wide armchairs, the curved brick fireplace stained with years of smoke, the countless shelves fit to burst with neatly organized books, the small but utilitarian kitchen, complete with a maple-

wood wet bar. He motioned to one of the deep chairs, and she curled up into in with her tea, compressing into a ball smaller than he thought looked comfortable. He perched on the edge of the one opposite her, and looked down at his hands until she was ready to begin.

"Harry…" she began, "had a…Oh my god the potion!" She had jumped up, and begun to walk to the stairs. "You can't stop brewing just because I'm here, we need to finish it, now more than ever!"

"Hermione," he said coolly from his chair, "it is nearly twenty till 1:00. I finished tonight's work a few minutes before you got here. It is simmering quite safely now."

"You're an angel," she breathed as she sat down. She realized she had said that out loud, and continued on as quickly as possible, in hopes that he had missed it. "So where was I?

"Not even yet at the beginning, Ms Granger."

She exhaled once more and tried again.

"Harry had a, well, an attack, I guess in Defense this afternoon. He's been having these terrible headaches lately, especially when Voldemort is feeling any particularly strong emotions. It seems Voldemort realized that he could crack open this sort of mental curtain between the two, and show Harry what he was seeing. And this afternoon the death eaters attacked a Muggle nursery school just outside of Glasgow." She was beginning to get misty eyed again, but she didn't let it interfere with getting the story out. "They killed everyone; the teachers, more than twenty three and four year olds, everyone. They made them kneel down and kiss his feet. They killed them all… except these two little boys: Twins, with sandy hair. Harry said that they didn't look or act any different than the rest, they were hiding under a table, and crying… but he knew that they were wizards, Muggleborns..." She couldn't hide the catch in her throat. "Mudboods. He made his men clear the bodies out from the center of the room and he gave one of the boys his wand. Voldemort stood in the center of the circle with this four year old boy, and asked him to kill him. Begged. He said 'If you're so special than do it… go ahead and kill me. Every other little snot nosed bastard seems to feel it is their destiny, why not join in?' He kept screaming at the kid, 'Kill me, kill me!' and the boy just stood there crying. He dropped the wand and tried to run for the table where his brother was, but Voldemort grabbed him. He didn't even use magic. He just strangled him while his brother watched."

She didn't remember him coming to sit next to her, and he didn't remember moving, but they were comforting each other and being comforted, hiding in a steady embrace that was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

She felt a very slight dampness on her neck, and didn't know whether her many tears were just finding their way to a new place, or whether the man whose face was currently buried in her hair has adding a few salty drops of his own to the mix. She found she didn't really care.

For a while they just sat there holding each other, but after one last sob, Hermione finished the story, "He took the other one."



He was leaning back into his corner of the armchair. "Than I would guess that my night is far from over."

She looked over at him, and he lifted his right sleeve just an inch. The dark mark was veritably pulsing. An angry, irritated red surrounded the faded black tattoo.

"He often gives out blanket calls on weekend nights for_… parties_, which he knows I tend to ignore. However, this one has been getting worse all evening.

She tentatively reached out and took his forearm in her hands. Her legs, in their rumpled uniform skirt and cable-knit tights were crossed Indian-style up into the chair, and she was sitting with her back to the arm, facing him, as she slowly put it in her lap. She gently traced the mark with her two index fingers, before covering it completely with her hand. He relaxed his fist, and she nestled her other hand into it.

Neither of them looked up from her lap until she said,

"Be safe,"

and then he disappeared down the stairs.


	14. Thirteen

A/N: Thanks for the positive feedback, kids! I will reiterate: JK Rowling is the rightful owner of these characters and this world. I am merely inspired by her work. I expect no kind of compensation for my little tales. You know the drill: read, review, lather, rinse, repeat.

* * *

Hermione was sleeping like the dead, and when her alarm heralded the beginning of a new day at seven sharp she loudly told it to fuck off, as it made crashing contact with the far wall of her bedroom. However when Crookshanks decided to sit on her head at 7:45, she reluctantly drug her sorry ass out of the covers.

Walking in to Potions with Ron, she realized that she must look like Good Morning Sunshine, compared to Snape. She could tell he was on autopilot: only the necessities of basic schoolroom function were there: lecture, set homework, Q and A, deduct points from Gryffyndor: the perfunctory tasks. He got through the lesson, god only knows how, but he managed to completely miss the fact that Lavender Brown had bypassed the day's task of making a simple bruise-be-gone salve, in favor of trying to replicate the Shrink-your-Cheating-Wizard's-Member potion outlined on page 17 of Witch Weekly.

While everyone else left with the bell, she peeled off of the group and backtracked into his office, where he was sitting upright behind his desk with his eyes closed, trying to get in a few moments of rest before the next class came in.

"You look like shit."

"It's lovely to see you, too, Ms Granger." He said before opening his eyes. "Last night was… not my idea of fun."

She was tempted to point out that he shared her rather skewed idea of fun, but decided that without knowing exactly what happened at his summons, she had better steer clear of any possibly insensitive jokes.

"I'd like to hear about it. If you want to talk that is."

He didn't respond, other than closing his eyes again, and leaning his head back against his hard-backed chair.

"I can come early tonight before we work on the potion. Unless… I…" Still no response. "…Never mind."

"I don't plan on going to the Great Hall for dinner tonight, so I should be in my quarters anytime after six."

"Get some rest, Professor; you have a full…" she looked at her watch, "two minutes and twelve seconds before you have to put your brave face on again."

* * *

When Hermione walked into the foyer at six sharp, she was faced for the first time with a choice of where to find Snape: Upstairs, or in the lab?

Her guess that he would be working rather than resting was the right one. As soon as she walked into the stone lab, she was greeted with a,

"Well, did you bring it?" from the man rifling through an Herbology Encyclopedia.

"Yes…" she held up a little vial with three of Harry's hairs, the last ingredients that needed to be added before the potion's final cycle of simmering and cooling, 'but we have all evening to add them… and I also brought this." She pulled from behind her back a little wicker basket, with a loaf of bread sticking out the side of it.

She held both choices loosely in front of her as he walked up to her. He peeked into the basket.

"Roast Beef. I thought we could make sandwiches." She explained.

He began to rifle.

"Cherries, some kind of cheese, crackers…"

She cut him off, "horseradish. For the sandwiches."

"All right," he said taking the basket from her and putting it on the closest table, "but only because of the horseradish."

"I didn't have any plates, and I felt I was imposing on the house elves already by having them get me these things, so there isn't any flatware either,"

"Or drinks… It's alright we can get some from upstairs." And he bounded off.

When she popped her head up the top of the stairs, he had already made a stack of two each of dishes, silver ware and napkins, and was pouring himself a glass of burgundy. He saw her and, with a furrowed brow began to look in his icebox.

"I have water… or… um, I could probably find some pumpkin juice…"

"Or I could just have a glass of that wine?"

He didn't say anything.

"It's legal under both Muggle and Wizard law."

He still didn't say anything, but he went to the bar and pulled down another glass.

As they carried their things downstairs, he wished he could pinpoint exactly why she looked so smug. She wished she could pinpoint exactly why he looked so relieved.

Hermione had never been in the lab this early, and the light from the setting sun was illuminating everything it touched in the purples, greens and golds of the rose window.

They ate in silence for more minutes than was comfortable until Hermione asked a question that in any other context could be construed as innocuous.

"How was the rest of your evening?"

He put down the cheese knife and looked at her.

"I don't think you ought to know what I saw last night, Hermione."

She shot back without thinking,

"And I don't think you ought to have to hold everything in." She felt she had struck a nerve, and for the first time in recent memory, Severus Snape felt a nerve struck.

She continued more cautiously.

"Don't worry about telling me something painful. I've dealt with pain in the past, and I don't doubt that I will in the future, I think that is just part of the human condition. Don't think that you are the only person prepared to deal with the evils of this world, Severus Snape, and don't think that you have to shoulder the burden alone. "

"They raped the other little boy before they killed him. Communally, in a group. They cheered while he bled." Snape was going for shock. If this girl had the gall to give him the hurt puppy face again, and tell him that she could help him cure the world's ills, than he would have to scare her back into a sane mindset. She needed to realize that this war was no longer a concept, but a reality. He wanted her to run as far away from it as possible, to go back to her mother's bosom and her friends' embrace, to remember it all like a far-away dream.

Needless to say, her reaction was far from what he was expecting.

"Those fucking bastards!" She slammed her steak knife into the wood of the table.

There was period of silence while he let her anger cool down, it wasn't uncomfortable this time; it was electric.

She was trying to sort through a flood of questions. He was looking at her nonchalantly, but only through years of practice was he able to hide the awe he felt.

She wondered how he could appear so cool after this revelation, but decided that wasn't the question for now:

"Is this norm…" She choked on the dark irony of the wordshe had almost used, "… common?"

"Yes," was his blunt response. "Sex is a tool of power with him, an easy way to show dominance."

"And there was no way you could stop them? No. of course there wasn't. But how could you just stand there? And how do you manage not to join? Oh, jesus, you did manage not to join in, right?"

She was looking at him with pure disgust written all over her face.

"Yes. I have certain… qualities… that don't exactly allow for me to be coerced into anything untoward. Voldemort understands this, and sees it as one of the attributes that sets me apart from the pack.

Her disgusted look fell away, and she was once again looking at him as though he were a hurt puppy, which he found a positive relief after her last expression.

"You mean qualities like being so aloof that you end up seeming uninterested in practically everything?" She said it to tease him, but knew that it was true, that his detachment allowed him to do what he had to do without loosing his dignity.

He smiled and shook his head in affirmation.

"And there wasn't_ nothing_ I could do. I have done it before, and I don't doubt that I'll have to do it again, but when they are occupied, I cast a numbing charm on the victim. He didn't feel anything for the last half hour or so of his life. "

"Their parents were Muggles."

He didn't connect the two threads: "Beg pardon?"

"Muggles. The twins' parents were Muggles. How do you tell two people that their children were murdered? How do you it break to them that they live in a world where magic is very much a reality, not to mention Lord Fucking Vader is roaming around with a personal grudge against their kids, just because they won Satan's lottery?"

"Vader?"

"Nevermind."

"Star Wars."

"It's unimportant. My point is: The Minister had better have done more than just slap a couple of memory charms on them and pretend it never happened. They deserve better."

"I honestly don't know what they were told." He had been trying to scare her with his bluntness about the rape, but she was doing a much better job of scaring him with all of this talk about families and parental love.

She took a sip of her wine, accepting the fact that as of now there was nothing she could immediately do to change Wizardkind's views of Muggles. She often drew a parallel between The Ministry's "What they don't' know won't hurt them" attitude and the American South's Separate but Equal laws of the first part of the 20th Century. But when was the Ministry going to wake up and realize that the only relationship they had with non-magical people was a patronizing one.

She didn't realize it but she must have muttered,

"Plessy v. Ferguson, my ass."

Snape said "Excuse me?"

"Oh. Nothing."

_And that would mean she will tell me I about 5…4…3…2…_

"I was just wondering when the last time a Minister of Magic didn't view the Wizard-Muggle Liaison Department as an outlet to practice his memory charms."

"Perhaps you are the person to change that?"

She started to laugh it off, his sense of humor was really beginning to grow on her… but he wasn't laughing.

"Me?" She asked.

"You."

"I'll think about it."

He was already standing up and beginning to clear the dishes, when he leaned over the table and sent her one of those amazing little smiles, his ebony eyes twinkling with mischief.

"As though you aren't already,"

She chose to attribute the flop of her stomach at that particular moment to the two and a half glasses of wine floating around her bloodstream.

* * *

There was relatively little work to be done that night, and Snape said that he didn't need any help Thursday morning when the potion was to be put on ice in preparation for its consumption Friday. They made plans for her to bring Harry in at 7:30 that evening with an empty stomach.

She was sitting on the table to the left of the simmering little silver cauldron filled with their blood, sweat, and tears, and he was standing in front of it, completing the last seven counterclockwise stirs.

"Hm!" She ejaculated a breathy little laugh and shook her head.

He stopped stirring. All they could do now was wait.

"What?"

"This was…"

She smiled and put her hand on his shoulder, turning him to face her.

"…fun."

He took an almost audible swallow when her hand stayed where it was, and a small thumb went from resting on the collar of his shirt to creeping up to feel the skin of his neck.

He hastily backed away and began to clean up. She continued to sit where she was for a moment before quietly packing away her things.

When she was almost at the door, he finally stopped her from where he stood at the far end of the room,

"Miss Granger," She turned around to look at him, and he could tell she was trying to hide truly paramount embarrassment. "I'll see you in class on Wednesday." He hoped that he was proving the Slytherin talent of inserting subtext well beyond the spoken word.

"Yeah." She nodded dejectedly down at the floor before looking up at him, and giving him sad little smile that let him know she understood completely.

"Yes, I'll see you in class. Professor."


	15. Fourteen

A/N: I think that JK Rowling deserves a little bit of credit for coming up with this stuff. I really do.

* * *

After Harry's alarming mental brush with Voldemort, Ginny's virginity went from technical to nonexistent. How they'd managed it when Harry's head was practically splitting with his constant migraines Hermione would never know, but she was happy for them nonetheless. The two were sitting on Hermione's bed talking not only about this recent development, but everything under the sun. They were taking advantage of their first Girl's Night since well before the detentions began half a month ago. Despite Hermione's complete faith in the fact that Ginny would not be able to keep a secret from Harry, she ended up telling her (the both of them giggling all the while) about the potion's secret ingredient. After which Ginny subjected her to a thoroughly unwelcome litany about semen as a complete protein source.

It was almost two in the morning on a Thursday night, and Hermione didn't stifle a yawn, hoping that Ginny would get the hint, and head back to Gryffindor tower soon. Ginny had a different idea, though. She poked Hermione off the bed and across the carpet to stand in front of the full length mirror. Hermione beheld herself in all of her ducky-PJ-clad glory, and laughed out,

"What the hell are we doing, Ginny?"

"Look."

"I'm looking… I'm also very tired, and I still need to read over my notes before Binns' exam tomorrow…how long will this take?"

"Not long, now just shut up for a second. What do you see?"

Hermione looked at her friend, and sensing that this was one of those, 'you're beautiful, start realizing it' moments, she decided placation was the best course of action.

"I see a lovely smile, delicate wrists, and a soft hourglass figure… Happy?"

Ginny rolled her eyes before she stepped back, looked Hermione up and down like a piece of meat, and said in a creepily accurate male impersonation that could only have come from having six brothers,

"Yeah, well, I think you look like a hot piece of ass."

Hermione barely got a "What?" out before collapsing in giggles again with her friend, who couldn't keep up the act. A minute later, when their abs were sore and their laughs had subsided, Ginny said dramatically,

"My point IS… you have so much to offer the male species, I just wish you could realize it.

"I'm surrounded by the male species, Ginny. That lug brother of yours and his friend, Master Potter the Drama King have wormed their way into my life and are unfortunately here to stay."



"You know I don't mean that. And I certainly know that you don't _need_ a boyfriend. I'm just saying that sometimes, it's nice to have a warm pair of arms to fall into at the end of a rough day… and I'm afraid with the way things are going, we are going to have quite a few rough days ahead."

Sharing just whose warm arms she had found herself in earlier in the week didn't even cross her mind. Looking back on her seemingly tenacious little action yesterday, she couldn't even remember purposely putting her hand on his shoulder, let alone deciding to caress ('_Caress? Did I really caress?!') _his neck. That was a can of worms whose existence she didn't want to acknowledge… let alone open.

"Well. I certainly wouldn't reject a relationship on principle, right now… if the right guy showed interest in one. "

"Good." Ginny said popping up, and heading for the door. "I'll tell Anthony you're free for a date. Hufflepuff seventh years are having a party Saturday night, a fall equinox thing on the beach by the lake. He'll meet you there."

Hermione was hot on her tail.

"Who? What? Party, I hate parties! No."

"Anthony Goldstein, Ravenclaw. We kind of became buddies in fourth year in the DA, and he's been asking about you lately."

"A party after curfew, with a bunch of drunk Hufflepuffs really doesn't sound like my kind of fun…"

"But..?" Ginny asked probingly.

"…But. I've been working my ass off these past few weeks, and if it's on the beach, I'm guessing that will mean a bonfire, and if there's a bonfire, I'm guessing there will be s'mores. And that's the clincher."

"Good," said Ginny, slipping back into an unsettling baritone, "but I don't know about you working that ass _off_, I just know you've been _working_ it. Uuh."

Hermione had to physically push Ginny out of her room, as she had stopped moving and was standing in the open doorway, shaking her ass Beyonce-style and singing,

"Shake that ass, watch yourself!"

As the door slammed, she heard Ginny on the other side.

"I'll meet you at 9:00 on Saturday in the common room, we'll walk down together,"

"Good, now go to bed before I deduct house points for unruly shaking of what your momma gave you."

Both girls walked away from the door thinking the other was completely insane, and loving each other for it.

* * *

Hermione and Ron skipped dinner on Friday out of solidarity, and as the boys followed her down to Snape's landing, they were having a verbal duel as to who was hungry enough to eat what.

"A horse."

"An elephant."

"A herd of elephants… and blast ended skrewt for dessert!"

"A unicorn!" and with that rather pointed declaration Ron playfully punched Harry in the arm, and Harry turned a deep shade of red at the mere mention of that particular critter.

"Honestly, Harry," said Hermione as she stopped on the landing, "if you could drink essence of Goyle second year, this should be cake. And it's for the greater good."

"I know. I actually can't wait to see how well it works. I can't remember the last time I've just had some peace and quiet up there." He gently rubbed his scar.

Ron seemed to be the first to realize that they had stopped moving.

"Two more flights to the dungeons, Herm. We have an appointment to keep."

" No. We're here. This is the entrance to Snape's private lab, and come to think of it, he probably won't be too keen on you showing up uninvited, Ron."

" Too ba-"

But Ron was cut off as the bricks rearranged themselves to reveal the small arched door, with Snape standing in it.

"Too bad, indeed, Mr. Weasley…" He looked at the three of them with no small measure of distaste. "…but hardly unexpected. Follow me."

The three stood on one side of the table, opposite Snape and the crystal beaker that held the finished product.

"I guess I'll just get on with it then," said Harry determinedly before reaching for it and raising it as though it were a pint.

"Cheers."

Ron physically had to catch him as he began to loose balance, and place him gently on a nearby stool. Harry's elbows were perched on the table, with his hands clutched, white knuckled over his ears. The other three in the room slowly began to hear a low thrum of what seemed to be hundreds of voices talking over each other, competing for prominence in the mind of the young man sitting in front of them, building to a deafening crescendo as Harry grimaced in pain.



And then silence.

For a split second Hermione thought something had gone horribly wrong, but when Harry peeked out from behind his hands, he was smiling as he exhaled a long-overdue sigh of relief.

Ron and Hermione leaned into each other, smiling and shaking their heads and patting their friend on the back, relieved that all had gone as planned. But as Hermione leaned forward and put the Boy who Lived into a loving headlock to place a supportive kiss on the top of his head, she noticed that Snape looked anything but relieved.

"Potter," His address of the boy acted as a reminder of his presence in the midst of this rather uncomfortable celebratory embrace the three of them seemed so invested in.

"Yes, sir?" Harry had disengaged himself from one of Ron's almost painful bear hugs, and the redhead had taken the stool next to him. Hermione however, went all the way around the table to sit next to the Potions master.

"Was that normal for you: that..." he couldn't seem to find quite the right word," _volume_ of noise?"

Harry looked slightly confused and Hermione, realizing that Harry and Snape weren't yet on the same page took the liberty of explaining,

"We heard them too. Right before they went away… like you were pushing them out of your head, or something."

Snape spoke again.

"I was under the impression that it was only Voldemort's thoughts that were entangled in your own."

"It is, I think," said Harry, "or was, rather. But yeah, that amount of racket was basically par for the course. It got way louder, and… angrier, than they usually were near the end, but there was always more than one. It's hard to explain, I but I think it's all him. I've basically been living inside his head for the past few weeks, and I've got to say, I think the man is completely bonkers."

"As though his diabolical scheming and evil ways, weren't enough of an indicator that he's off his rocker?" joked Ron

"Well, yeah, I mean it's obvious that he's nuts, right? I'm just saying I think he might actually be _nuts_."

Snape had steepled his fingers under his chin, and Hermione was surprised to see that he was absorbing this slightly scatter-brained discussion with the same intense look on his face that she used to associate with order meetings. Now it reminded her how he had looked the other night when he was trying to clean a particularly sticky cauldron, and she had to remember not to smile at the memory of his steady and unintelligible string of curses as he scrubbed. She caught Ron looking as her looking at Snape before snapping back into the here and now.

Harry mumbled something about finally being able to get some sleep as he got up off the stool.

As Hermione followed the boys into the foyer with Snape on her heels, she couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable…it reminded her of saying goodbye to relatives you don't really know after a visit: she had no idea how to tie up whatever odd relationship the two had developed in the past weeks.

Again she found herself next to Snape with Harry and Ron at the door; as though they were bidding them goodnight after a dinner party. Harry vocalized his thanks to both of them for their hard work and Ron made affirmative noises, and mentioned something about "a Potions dream-team" which made both of them smile softly, and glance at each other. It was the first time they'd really made eye contact the entire evening, and Hermione felt more than ever that this was Goodbye.

"Thank you for letting me help, professor," she heard herself say through a false and cheery smile, although she was really only trying to hide the fact the she could begin to feel some tears welling up.

He extended his hand formally, and when she took it, said without a hint of emotion in his voice,

"And thank you for reminding me that a teacher can still learn from his students."

When he dropped her hand after the most painfully formal handshake in human history, she made her way to stand next to her friends, and the door reemerged with a small wave of his wand.

The boys, already half way up the stairs, didn't notice that Hermione wasn't with them. She was standing on the landing with tears just beginning to fall down her cheeks, looking up at Severus Snape. His eyes twinkled down at her with a sad little smile that his lips would never reveal as the bricks of the wall slowly re knit themselves between them.

A/N revisited: The opening line about Ginny's Virginity was taken almost verbatim from the fatastic 1995 film, Clueless, so props there. And as for the cheesily obvious metaphor with the brick wall at the end... I don't apologise and I don't take it back!


	16. Fifteen

A/N: All that is pure and good in this story beongs to the eminent Ms. Rowling, and her multitude of minions.

And a little note to the readers: Please review this chapter, I'm toying with a few possible avenues to take me to the conclusion, so the more I hear about what you guys want to see the better.

Enjoy!

* * *

Without the constant metal interruption Harry almost managed to take Ron's bishop, but he was blindsided by one crushing move, and with two more strategically played turns Ron had checkmated his friend and was turning to scan the room for their female complement.

Hermione was nowhere to be seen. It was past dark on a Saturday night: where else would she be but here in the common room?

His train of thought was interrupted when Ginny came over to them in what Ron judged to by a much too short mini-dress.

"You sure you don't want to come?" she asked Harry as she perched on the back of the nearest sofa.

Harry looked a little uncomfortable for a second before Ginny realized her faux-pas and said,

"You should come too Ron, I hear Hufflepuff girls aren't at all particular."

"Ha-Ha. Thanks, but I just about flunked my last History test, so I think I need to spend some quality book time tonight."

Harry looked over at his friend, grateful that he didn't want to go either. "I'll quiz you, if you want." He offered.

"Looks like it's just us girls tonight, then," said Ginny to someone who had just come in through the portrait hole. They turned to see Hermione walking toward them radiating an ease of elegance specific to a woman who has no idea how beautiful she looks. She had on an eggplant scoop-neck dress which revealed most of her back and little silver sandals that she could kick off at the beach. Her cream-colored wrap sweater was draped over her arm, and her hair was pulled up in a French twist, unruly curls popping out everywhere.

Ginny was the first to vocalize what everyone in the common room was thinking,

"Hot damn, woman!"

She plopped a kiss on Harry's cheek, as he stared agog at Hermione, and said, "You trying to catch flies, babe?"

He clapped his mouth shut, and managed a, "Have fun tonight," as the girls said their goodbyes and see-you-soons.

Ron finally snapped out of his stupor. He pulled Ginny into a hug to say his cautionary, "Be good," which had preceded basically every one of Ginny's outings since her first sleepover at age seven. It had developed a whole new meaning a few years ago, when he noticed that her fiery red hair and mischievous smile seemed to invite a new kind of trouble.



He pulled Hermione into the hug, and attempted to give her a noogie without messing up her hair.

"You too."

She smiled into his shoulder, and pulling away said,

"I always am!"

The girls linked arms and set out for their party.

* * *

The first twenty minutes, making S'mores by the fire and finding common conversational ground about classes and teachers with Anthony weren't bad. Sure he was a little unremarkable, but he seemed smart, and she supposed she could deal with the whole mole thing growing out of the back of his neck … and then an open bottle of some cheap red wine was passed to the two. She politely shook her head as he poured some into his plastic glass that still held the dregs of his first two pumpkin juices. She watched in terror as he pretentiously swirled it below his nose before bringing it to his dry ('_Merlin, his lips look like the Chihuahua desert,') _lips and allowing a tiny amount of it to come in contact with his taste buds. He proceeded to spend the next twenty minutes talking about how this wine was really a cheap knock off of one his grand-uncle's vineyard produced, and how he would have to bring her to his family's cellar some day. (Here she could actually see him swish the stuff around, as though the flavor had somehow changed in the past twelve sips) Apparently Muggle wine was also a cheap knock off of something wizards had come up with centuries before… and the robust qualities of a merlot were dwarfed by the earthy… almost smoky tang of the less popular, but far superior, and more expensive Bordeaux… especially when made with malbecs.

Here Hermione interjected with one of her favorite personal anecdotes about going to a restaurant when visiting her grandma Granger in Dover when she was about six, and after carefully reading the drink menu, she ordered a glass of Chardonnay because she liked the way the word looked on the page, much to the shock of the waiter.

He looked at her blankly for a brief second before beginning in on the inferiority of the grapes that most Chardonnays are using these days, and how the wine has lost all of the elegance that once made it so popular.

Hermione sat in her private hell while everyone around her laughed loudly at crude jokes, and paired off into couples, and re-paired. Ginny bounced from person to person, group to group, dancing and talking, and performing some really incredible charm work that was making a rather drunk Ernie Macmillan glide across the dark lake on winged trainers. When she made her way over to Hermione and at a quarter past ten, Anthony was just finishing up another fascinating sermon on Pushkin, Pushkin and Finkle, the Wizarding law firm he was going into after Hogwarts. He peeled off to go find more wine, and Ginny took his seat on the log near Hermione.

"How's it going?" Ginny asked… all optimism.

"Great. Did you know that magical medicinal malpractice law was the highest paid profession for the last four years… how about the fact that Wizarding barristers are the only possible choice for any woman serious about maintaining good society credibility in _this _day and age."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Ginny.

"Oh, I'm sorry. It was that bad?"

'He swished his wine… and I think there was some pumpkin juice in it.

Ginny nodded sympathetically, and Hermione made to get up to leave.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, I just want to go before he comes back."

She was almost at the Castle door when it opened to reveal a very put out Professor Sprout storming out into the darkness, lit wand held high.

"Miss Granger! What are you doing?"

"I'm…" she decided honesty was the best policy, as her head girl status could pretty well cover up for any curfew infringement, "I'm just leaving a party."

"Good. Follow me."

Hermione didn't have to ask for an explanation: Professor Sprout, as always, wasn't making complete sense, but she wasn't making it in a very clear way.

"I need a student such as yourself. This happens every dratted fall equinox, and they change the location, and the cloaking spells each year. You'll simply lead me to them."

Hermione was flabbergasted as her teacher marched down toward the lake, obviously unable to see the tableau before her, aiming for about two hundred yards away from where Hermione saw the fire burning quite brightly in the distance.

"Go left ,"she offered.

"Thank You" Sprout squeaked as she picked up her pace in slightly better direction.

When Hermione got closer, most of the party had ceased activity and was watching their progress towards the shore. About twenty yards from the fire, Hermione heard a loud, "Ow!" as Sprout slammed into a magical barrier.

She turned, rubbing her nose, to Hermione, "Here, then?"



Hermione barely saw a very exasperated looking Justin Finch-Fletchley shake his head at her, as though she were breaking some unwritten kid code in giving up their location, before giving a curt nod to Sprout who began a few age barrier detection charms.

Five minutes later, the fire was being doused, and the kids were being shooed out towards the castle.

Sprout's tutt-tutting noises at all involved were rudely interrupted by a now officially sloshed Ernie Macmillon splashing toward them… followed by at least six others, equally pissed, and most without such sturdy bewitchments on their footwear.

"Sprout! You party-poop!" Cried Hannah Abbott toward the beach as she righted herself from a near capsizing, "Catch us if you can!" and she flopped off toward the far shore, followed by the rest.

Hermione heard Sprout utter, '_Damn it' _below her breath before hollering out across the lake, "Twenty house points from whoever doesn't come here immediately."

Unfortunately, the only response was a splash and a peel of laughter as one of them hit the drink.

"Hermione, dear, could you please coax Ms. Branstone from the oak, I need to invite someone with a slightly firmer hand to deal with these delinquents."

Hermione looked upward to see a previously unnoticed, but decidedly sauced Elenor Branstone straddling the largest branch of the tree, bag of marshmallows firmly in hand.

_Whap_

A white, fluffy, sweet projectile pegged her in the head.

Before putting on her head girl hat and deciding how to deal with this particular little obstacle, she looked over to Sprout.

She was performing a wand movement that Hermione had noticed other teachers use before, and she saw, more than heard her muttering something.

Four minutes, a deal involving graham crackers and Belgian chocolate, and a near broken arm later Hermione had gotten Elenor down, and she looked over to see the long, familiar strides of Snape making his way towards the melee. He didn't so much as look at her before he fell into silent council with Sprout, who must have summoned him via some kind of wand-to-wand communication.

After a sonorus charm and a terrifyingly serious threat of parental interviews on top of cradle-to-the grave detentions, Snape had successfully wrangled them back, and Sprout was beginning to shepherd them toward the castle. "Ms. Granger, would you kindly stay and clean up some of this mess," she shot over her shoulder. She saw the group vividly silhouetted in the light from within the castle for a brief second before the doors shut, leaving them with nothing but a small glow from the last few coals in the fire.

She stooped down to pick up Elenor's abandoned bag of marshmallows.

* * *

Severus Snape liked to pride himself of noticing things. He had made a perfect study of the nuances of the human animal. He was an observer. And he had indeed observed many things about Hermione Granger in the years he had known her: that she was a fiercely protective friend, a bibliophile to the n'th degree, and a deft hand at potions. In the past few weeks, he had even observed that she could match him witticism for witticism, insult for insult… even that her lips disappeared into a tight line, kneaded in between her teeth whenever she was deep in concentration. However he had never noticed until now, when she was sitting on an old stump trying to poke a marshmallow onto a stick, bathed in the light of a dying fire, that the curved tops of her beasts peeking out over the top of her dress were the perfect shade of ivory, or that the length of her neck only was only amplified by the long, curling stands of hair that fell to well below her collar bones.

He was busy compiling a new list of observations about her that left his heart pounding and his brain reeling, when his reverie was interpreted.

She was sitting on her stump, holding a flaming marshmallow out toward him.

"S'more?"


	17. Sixteen

Author's Note:

Welcome back, faithful readers! Welcome, newcomers! And go on ahead and ignore this note completely, prospective future readers who couldn't care a whit that this story has been picked up after _years_ as nothing more than a niggling reminder of the author' complete inability to follow through on anything. I told you all once, that "Nothing will happen quickly in this story, but I promise it will happen." And that looks to be more true than I ever could have known, eh?

And happen it will. Around the New Year, I, who have not read or indeed thought about Harry Potter Fanfiction for what seems life a lifetime, began to take stock of some Real Life (ohh, look! I remember enough about the world of fanfic to capitalize that!) Things. And in doing so, I was reminded of something that once, long ago, I really did care about. Something that I left alone in the wilds of cyberspace to fend for itself. And I did some digging, and there, in the bowels of my computer, was this: Chapter 16! And almost complete!

And once I picked it up… Well, let's just say that this time I mean to follow through. The story is finished. I plan to post chapters semi regularly. I invite you all to read, and review. Unless you don't like it… in which case, poo on you. I'm an un-published, un-edited hobbyist who writes for her own selfish purposes, and whose work you have chosen to read in your own free time. So play nice.

As for everyone else, I look forward once more to sharing with you this weird little niche of joy that so many of us have found in the vast weirdness that is internet fandom.

* * *

Ch 16

He was standing by the water, and even though the fire's dim glow left his upper half in shadow, she was pretty sure that his head was turned to face her. He'd been silent for too many minutes than was comfortable, and she was afraid that he was preparing a lecture on the irresponsibility of the Head Girl attending an unauthorized party, and the immaturity of her flagrant disregard for school rules. So she had bribed him away from his thoughts with chocolate and marshmallow.

She bent forward slightly to blow out his marshmallow, and saw him take a few paces towards her. When the little flame was extinguished he was standing over her, barely a foot away and she had to look up to see the firelight dancing across his face. She had never felt so naked before. The purple dress had seemed like a good idea in theory, but now it occurred to her that both the neck and the back were much to low, and she wasn't sure why she was so flustered as she looked around for her sweater. She could see it mostly buried in the sand a few yards away, but as she began to get up he reached out his hand to barely touch her shoulder, just where the dress met her collarbone. The action clearly said, "Sit back down," and she complied.

He was still looking down at her, and try as she might, she couldn't look away from him. She had to swallow a lump before she could even think about speaking, but after the lump was swallowed, she found that forming words into sentences was much harder than she remembered.

"I… hm?" was all she could get out, and it sounded high and wavering to her ears.

She gave up on it and held up the finished S'more to him. Unfortunately, she misgauged the distance between them, and her hand hit his side, and the S'more hit the sand.

Neither of them noticed, however. Hermione was tentatively putting her hand on the spot she had just bumped, feeling the slight jut of a hip bone where his black shirt tucked into his black pants. She felt more than heard him breathe out a shaky sigh, and she reached up and put her other hand on his chest, grabbing a little handful of cotton, and pulling him down to her.

Had anyone witnessed the kiss, they would have thought that it looked awkward: him bent at the waist, her sitting stubbornly on her stump, and apart from her hands and their lips, an unusual distance apart from one another.

However when Hermione felt one hand reach out to cradle the side of her face, long fingers combing into the hair at the base of her neck, it felt anything but awkward. It felt dizzyingly and terrifyingly right.

Snape pulled away all too soon, and backtracked to the far side of the fire. He looked at her for just a second longer, with what Hermione would later realize was no small amount of pure desire burning in his eyes, before turning and fleeing back towards the castle.

He was almost to the door when he heard, thanks to his overdeveloped auditory senses, a very frustrated voice say from the shore,

"Well, shit."

* * *

The next few weeks went anything but smoothly. Hermione was fully absorbed in head girl duties, her death-wish class load, and being one third of the trio that lately seemed to be spending more time talking about battle tactics than was healthy for the average teen. But no matter how busy she was, she always found time to feel completely foolish around her Potions professor. She shut up like a clam in his classes, refusing to either ask or answer questions. The few times they had spoken she could feel her cheeks burning, and was shocked at how he managed to be able to look at her as though the… the.. _"Oh my god, I kissed Snape!... You did it, why can't you think it, Granger?" _kiss had never happened.

Life would seem to be going smoothly, and then there would be a potions demonstration, when the small NEWT class would gather around his cauldron for a closer look as he stirred and chopped. Hermione strategically placed herself near the back of the close-knit circle, off of his right shoulder so that she wouldn't have to look him in the eye. But as he turned to the side to grab the powdered ewe horn from where it lay on the table to his left, his hair fell forward off his neck to reveal one sharply defined muscle that disappeared when he faced forward again… and she had to physically fight the urge to just reach out and touch.

And if it wasn't a stolen glimpse of neck in a demonstration, it was accidental eye contact in the great hall, or the reverberation of his voice in the dungeon halls as he chastised a student for god-knows-what that set her off into the ultimately futile train of thought: Why? Why not… oh, yes. If only.

Luckily she had Ron and Harry to ground her to something familiar. Or, well, to be more accurate: Ron, Harry and the ever-present sense of terrible foreboding. The three had come to know it well over the past seven years.

They continued going to classes, flirting and teasing in the common room with their friends, and fretting over their prospective NEWT scores. But behind it all was the knowledge that it was only a matter of time before the hammer dropped. When it came to life-threatening drama, Hermione had always been in the eye of the storm thanks to her attachment to Harry. And at times she wondered if she wouldn't prefer it other wise. In Primary school she had stood out for one reason and one reason alone, her academic aptitude. Here, she had traded normalcy for the exact opposite, never seeming to get a moment's peace between horrors, both physical and philosophical, of the first order. She would have happily teased Harry about it… jokingly blamed him for stepping on her dreams of worrying about nothing more than her Practical Charms grade… had she not known that he, and Ron at the heart of him, longed for the exact same thing. And she supposed that was precisely why, at the end of the day, she wouldn't have it any other way. They were three kids who must fight, not for politics or revenge or honor, but for the right to worry about life rather than death, love rather than hate.

And for a few weeks after Harry's miraculous cure Hermione thought that things were pretty normal. Normal, of course, meaning that the three of them (and tangentially Ginny and Neville and Luna) worried about the big things while the other three hundred and fifty souls attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry continued on their merry way oblivious to the gathering storm. Hermione was just leaving the library for dinner when she saw that her shoe was untied. She stopped in an alcove and put her foot up on a bench where someone was sitting with a Daily Prophet.

"Hullo," She said genially, as she turned her concentration from her laces to the face of the kid she had interrupted.

He was a Hufflepuff, maybe a third year, with strawberry blonde hair and a healthy smear of freckles across his nose. He had obviously been crying. In fact, he could barely get any words out, his throat was so thick,

"You're the head girl!"

She smiled though her concern in affirmation and let him continue.

"You, you're the one who's friends with Harry Potter."

She sat down.

" Yeah. Are you alright?"

And fat droplets began falling from his long, wet lashes.

"I want to go home…"

Christmas holidays were still two months away. She thought that this was probably an early onset case of the academic burnout that usually hit students another five or six weeks on down the road. She was just about to firmly put on her head girl hat and give what was bound to be a perfect lecture on the importance of stamina and stick-to-iteveness in academia, no matter how homesick one becomes… but the kid continued before she even so much as cleared her throat.

"… but Ma and Da say it's safer here,"

Her head girl hat was disintegrating…

"Their letter tells me to stay where Dumbledore and Harry Potter is at, and don't worry about them,"

But her heart was kicking into gear.

The boy continued, "But have you seen these articles lately? There's another one at least every few days now. And everywhere too, not just up North. I think they think their safe cause they's way down in Birmingham, but they don't understand that travel ain't the same for wizards. And if it's so damn safe here why can't they be here with me!"

Hermione saw all too clearly this boy's situation.

"They'll be all right. And…" And what? What she wanted to say was that people were doing everything in their power to stop Voldemort, that they wouldn't rest until every one of these attacks on Muggle-borns had ceased. But she was afraid that even with that small placation she had already lied to him. She put her hand on his shoulder and he curled up into her, crying into her sweater.

"They'll be all right,"

She willed for it, with all her strength, to be true.


	18. Seventeen

Author's Note, a poem, By valtoni

Not mine.

Don't Sue.

Do Review.

I love you.

* * *

Ch 17

Later that night, in their usual suite of armchairs by the fire, she told Harry and Ron what she had heard.

"Well, I'm not surprised," Ron was attempting to clean gum off of a History of Magic thesis. "I mean, nobody isn't affected. I guess a few of the pureblood Slytherins, I suppose, but what? it's like 30% of all Wizards alive are Muggle born, and I guess double that to include people like Harry here who're only one generation removed from Muggle blood. I mean have you ever actually read this stuff? " He gestured with his essay, still fairly well be-gummed, and then tossed it aside, his mind on more pressing matters than a sticky paper. "Wizards don't exactly have an excellent track record for long periods of peace and solidarity. We fight with each other. We fight with other races. I mean, the Goblin rebellions, the Toast and Singed Dragon Assimilation Party, Grindewald , You-Know-Who… it seems like every century or so we do a pretty thorough job of really fucking up any actual chance at a quiet, happy sort of life. Maybe that's why these guys hold on so tightly to their dusty old bloodlines, they know that they're dying out. And I mean, they have to be at the rate Wizards have historically killed each other. The only chance to have the concept of "pureblood" survive is through inbreeding… and I know that Mum and Dad love each other dearly and whatnot, but it really does skeeve me out thinking that they're third cousins."

Harry grinned and threw a questionably puce-colored Bertie Bott's at him.

"I guess that explains the third nipple!"

"Shut up Harry, I don't have a third nipple." He half stood up, and shouted to anyone who may have overheard,

"I don't have a third nipple!"

A terrified looking fifth year girl appeared to have been the sole recipient of this explanation, and she stood frozen, Ron staring her down, challenging her to question the veracity of that statement.

"….OK," She said, before she scurried up to her dormitory.

Ron sat back down and threw the bean back at Harry.

"But seriously, part of me is just pissed off that this entire thing with Voldemort is A) Not even remotely logical and B) even if there as a logical argument for Purebred superiority or something it wouldn't even apply to him because he's just as much a mudblood as anyone."

Hermione was quietly transcribing her Arithmancy notes, and she smiled softly into her lap as Ron concluded his argument. She could always count on Ron to shed a totally unique light on things. Sometimes she wondered if he spent his entire life as though it were a game of chess, seeing moves about to be made that no one else was able to see.

"Yeah," Harry said," but I think at the end of the day logic really doesn't play into it at all."

He was looking down at the little, sticky, puce-colored jelly; rolling it around in his palm. In the fire-light, hunched over, with his messy hair harshly silhouetted against the wall, he looked more like a character in a Dickens novel that a leader of men and a crusader for good. He leaned forward, about to toss the bean in the fire.

"It's just an excuse. An excuse to be evil. An excuse to be weak, or greedy or falsely righteous. But Voldemort is evil. He doesn't need those excuses for himself, he needs them so the people he surrounds himself with can tolerate themselves. It's disgusting. "

The bean was squished and sticky, and he looked at it for a moment. Then he popped it into his mouth.

He smiled.

"I think it's… I think it's rum raisin!"

He shook his head. "It's disgusting… but it's sad."

"The rum raisin is sad?" Ron was a step behind.

Harry clarified,

"The rum raisin was pretty good actually, it's sad that so many people exist who thrive on… latching on the nearest power. The Death Eaters eat up these lies Voldemort spreads… they internalize them until it's the only truth they can see.

Hermione put aside her notes and leaned in. "We can't excuse the Death Eaters, Harry. You've read the accounts… you've s_een_ them. Whatever the nature of true evil may be you can't deny that taking part in it makes you a part of it. Makes it a part of you."

She swallowed, thinking very suddenly and specifically of Snape this morning in Potions. The heat from the cauldron fires had been horrendous and he had shed his outer robe and pulled up his sleeves to help Neville macerate his gooseberries. Suddenly, his face had clouded slightly and he immediately pulled down his right sleeve.

"I know," Harry said. "I'm not excusing anyone. Bellatrix and Dolohov and Runcorn, they're all accountable… I just hope nobody expects them to be accountable to me. "

Ron lowered his eyebrows in confusion and glanced at Hermione, wanting to see if she had fully understood. She hadn't and Harry saw that she hadn't. He continued.

"I will see it through to the end with Voldemort. I will, no matter what. But I don't want this to become a war. If people expect me to just make these people disappear, I really don't think I can oblige. It's not my place. And if we do try to take them all out en masse, I can't even begin to think how many people on our side would have to… "

He swallowed thickly and rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

"You're right. That is what the ministry is for."

"When things are running properly, Herm," Ron astutely and pessimistically pointed out. Hermione glared at him and he continued with a lighter tread.

"If Harry could take out Voldemort mano a mano and the ministry could try all of the Death Eaters as war criminals and punish them accordingly that would be perfect, just fucking peachy. It really would. But, don't look at me like that Hermione, we gotta face the fact that the Ministry is well on its way to being Voldemort's party headquarters. And if there isn't a working system for justice we might have to improvise. "

"Didn't I just make it pretty clear that 'improvising' as you called it is going to get innocent people killed?" Harry said very softly.

"I know, but you heard Hermione earlier, it's getting worse out there, everybody is starting to feel it. You said you don't want this to become a war, but I think Voldemort has already done a pretty good job of starting one. I just think that something must be done, with or without help from the ministry. "

" Maybe if Voldemort was out of the picture we could get a new Ministry in place to try the rest…" Harry was grasping at straws, realizing as he said it that it was to big of an "if" to base any sort of plan on.

"Maybe…" Hermione was staring into the fire. "… Maybe there's someone besides the ministry we can turn to for help."

"Maybe I'm sick and tired of hearing that ten year olds are afraid for their lives." Harry was seething… a slow, steady, burning fire. "Maybe I'm sick and tired of worrying that my friends are going to do something stupid on my behalf that will get them killed. Maybe I'm sick and tired of biding my time, waiting for Him to come around and tell me he's ready for me to die. "

And he got up and headed straight for the portrait hole.

* * *

It was still slightly before curfew when they got to Dumbledore's office.

"Peppermint Patty," Said Harry to the Gargoyle.

Going up the stairs they heard the unmistakably shrill tones of Mcgonagall brogueing down at them.

"… it's time. Severus agrees, don't you?"

Sitting at his desk, Dumbledore looked just as wise and magnificent as Hermione remembered him on the day of her Sorting. She had privately loved him the moment she saw him for looking every inch what she had imagined a Wizard to be. Now, smiling in invitation to his three new guests, he conjured a few extra armchairs and said,

"Sit, sit. And now, Minerva, I believe you will find the point you were just arguing is about to become moot. Assuming, of course that these three aren't here to speak of their course load."

"No, Professor," And Harry began summarizing the conversation they had just had.

Hermione allowed herself a small glance in Snape' direction. She was sure she had just missed him looking at her, and she felt a little flush rush into her cheeks. She turned her attention back to the matter at hand.

"…So I guess what we're saying, Professor, is that this has all gone on long enough. "

"You see, Minerva," Dumbledore was still looking serenely out from under his eyebrows at Harry, "I told you the moment would present itself shortly."

Harry looked from one to the other with a questioning gaze.

"The three of us, Mr. Potter, where just discussing whether or not you would ever reach the conclusion you have appeared to reach this evening. " McGonagall's tone wasn't even half as imperious and biting a Hermione knew it could be. The old Scot really did have a soft spot for Harry.

"I didn't know… If I knew you were waiting for _me_ to make a decision, I would have done sooner!"

"Of course, my boy, "Dumbledore got up and walked over to where Harry was sitting, and briefly put his hand on his shoulder "but then you wouldn't have made the decision because it was your decision to make. I find that choices that bear this much weight must percolate naturally. "He walked back around to his desk and twinkled at the assembled party. "But as the issue of When has just been solved for us, I suggest we turn our minds to the much more complex issue of How.


	19. Eighteen

Author's Note: Hey. Psst. You, yeah you. I've got something good for you. Come 'ere. This shit hasn't even hit the streets yet. I'll give it to you for a fair price... A brand new chapter, and all it'll cost you is a little review. Just gimme somthing back, man. Let me know how it's treating you. And hey.. tell your friends

Feel free to leave recs too. I havn't read any good fanfiction in years, and a lady could use a little inspiration.

* * *

Ch 18

Hermione assumed that she and Snape had been working to Free up Harry's mind for his own personal sanity. But now she saw that it was for far more than that. They needed him; his passion, his experience, and maybe even his very existence… to win this war. With the free-mind, Dumbledore had seen an opportunity and seized it. Hermione learned all of this that evening, as the six of them strategized and theorized into the wee hours, and she couldn't even find it in herself to resent the old wizard for manipulating her. Just because he cared about the universal value of a sane Harry, didn't make it any less true that he also cared about the personal value.

They briefly touched on everything that night from possible arrangements for the families of Mixed blood students to come to Hogwarts, to lists of Members of the Order of Phoenix and the D.A., to a rather terrifying conversation held largely and aggressively between Snape and Ron about the most vicious and deadly hexes known to wizard kind.

But once they began to see a course of action through the fog of hypothesis, they thought of nothing besides the foundations of their newly hatched plan. And they laid it carefully, brick by brick.

Hermione said goodnight to the boys in front of her room and went to bed knowing that when she woke up tomorrow nothing would be the same.

And under the surface of it, she was right. But above it all was still this veneer of normalcy. She woke up and went to breakfast, then to classes, and then to a prefect's meeting. She passed students in the halls and privately died for them to know the truth, to tell them all that they didn't have to carry on acting as though everything were normal. As though their friends and families, neighbors and loved ones weren't disappearing. She wished she could share her fervor and anger with them. But she knew that if Hogwarts suspended classes and sent everyone home (or, as Hermione had suggested last night, invited students' families to come weather the storm in the Castle) Voldemort would be alerted to the fact that they had stopped waiting for him. And their entire plan hinged on playing it all out on their terms rather than his.

After dinner she went back to her own room, even though she could tell that the boys would have preferred her company. She needed to think.

Messages had been surreptitiously sent out that morning and the first, and (if everything went to plan) only meeting of the new Order of Phoenix was to take place at midnight in the Room of Requirement.

She changed out her school uniform and into a comfortable grey sweater and corduroys. She rearranged everything on her vanity. She pulled out her DADA notes. She put away her DADA notes. She tried to tie a bow around Crookshanks' neck and only succeeded in treeing him up on top of her highest bookshelf. And than she said,

"Fuck it,"

And left for the dungeons.

When she got to the landing she didn't so much as hesitate before tapping the bricks and entering into Snape's small entrance way. She could see a light at the top of the stairs and went up.

He must have heard someone because before she was even a third of the way up, he was there at the top, holding a dish towel and a dripping glass.

He was surprised but not annoyed, and something else which she couldn't quite read. She didn't even think that not two months ago she only would have been able to describe the way he looked down at her as inscrutable. She just looked up at him and said,

"I can't think. I can't breathe enough to think. And here was the only place where I thought I might be able to breathe…"

He didn't say anything. He just stared down at her. Much of the surprise and annoyance left his face, and he quickly turned back and disappeared upstairs.

When she got to the top of the stairs she fell into one of the big armchairs near the fire. She sat in silence for a moment before getting up and grabbing a towel and joining him at the counter.

There weren't many dishes and they were almost done.

"I thought you needed to think."

"Sometimes keeping my hands busy helps with that."

He shut the cabinet door, smiled softly, and said, "I concur."

They finished up in silence and afterwards Snape put the kettle on. Hermione was standing in his living room toying with a little soapstone elephant on his mantelpiece, and she barely heard him come up behind her.

He was looking at her warily, and rather intensely, she thought. She swallowed and, putting the figurine back where she had found it, turned to face him.

They started speaking at the same time.

"Hemione, I'm flat-"

"If this plan doesn'-"

He stopped on a dime, and her eyebrows went up.

"What?"

"Nothing. You were saying about the plan?"

"No, you said, 'Hermione, I'm flat..' Flat-what?"

He looked at her levelly, his arms crossed across his chest, and his deep grey gaze completely level.

She wasn't about to let his dungeon-bat mask shoo her off topic.

She smiled sweetly at him and took a step closer.

"Flat-ironing your hair?"

He scowled.

"Flat-footed?"

She was just a few inches away now, and she had to turn her head up to look him in the eye.

"Flat-ulent?"

That beautiful, rare, honest smile of his broke the surface of his cold façade, and he shook his head and swept away towards one of the arm-chairs.

"Yes, correct. All of the above. Now you were saying."

She hadn't thought of their kiss at all in the past day. She privately wondered whether he had. She knew he was going to say that he was flattered… but after that she hadn't a clue. Honestly, she was perplexed as to why he would allude to it now.

But she let it go.

"Oh, nothing earth-shattering. I suppose I was just going to fret and fawn over the fact that tonight is kind of the scariest night of my life." She smiled self-deprecatingly at him and sat primly in the opposite chair. "I need someone with which to commiserate."

"I wish I could help, but tonight isn't even in my top five."

"Oh, now that's just depressing."

"I suppose it is, isn't it." They were both still keeping it light, neither one of them willing to address the very real possibilities the night held.

"Oh, come on. We're waging war tonight. It must be a bit scary."

"For me? No."

"Ooh, Severus, you're soo brave!" She was immediately uncomfortable with her joke. Although he didn't react to it at all, she felt as though she had inadvertently stepped on some part of him. Whether it was his name or his nature she wasn't sure.

It was terribly quiet for just a moment before the kettle began to sing. Two minutes later they were both back in their chairs cradling hefty mugs of earl grey.

"It's… " He was clearly not quite comfortable with whatever he was about to say. Its subject hit much to close to home.

"It's not about bravery. I suppose I'm not scared because my part in the game is over. "

She knitted her brows into a little question .

"No, don't look at me like that. I'll be there tonight. I'll see it all through to the finish."

"The finish. You mean… for Voldemort. " She was looking at him with genuine concern. He no longer mistook it for pity.

"I am a spy, Hermione," He was weighing these words as carefully as any she had ever heard him say.

" …we are always found out before the end."

She looked down into her cup, swirling the dregs slowly around and around.

"It's always been my goal to delay the inevitable until I had a chance to stand side by side against Him with Albus..." He exhaled a little snort of a laugh humorlessly and shook his head.

"… and Harry."

She stood up abruptly, swiping his cup away from him, not noticing that it was still half full, and striding into the kitchen to put the in the sink. Snape heard a falsely cheerful voice from the other room.

"Oh, that's Centaur shit and you know it. You have as much chance tonight as me, or McGonagall , or Neville, or anyone," Her throat caught slightly.

He silently got up.

"And like you said, your part is essentially over, so why don't you stop the pity party and allow yourself to recognize a job well done, and…"

She had just slammed the cupboard door and turned around to find him not a foot away from her.

She allowed the floodgates to open and, crying, buried herself in his arms.

He stood with her that way for a few moments, with his chin resting lightly on top of her head, instinctively rubbing her back. Finally pulling away, he held her at arms length, wiped one last stray tear off of her chin, and, looking directly into her eyes, said,

"Let's just both agree that however this night plays out, we would prefer that no one in this room treat their life with a cavalier attitude. "

She sniffed, and throwing caution to the wind, wrapped her arms back around him and said,

"Agreed. Life is really far too dear for that. " She whispered it directly in his ear, but she was still worried that he might not have really heard it.


	20. Nineteen

Ch 19.

Without warning, he clenched her tightly, almost painfully, before tearing away and backing into the farthest corner of the kitchen.

"Damn it," He held up his arm and looked at it, gritting his teeth. Slowly, he unclenched his fist and stretched his long, thin fingers out, measuring the rapidly receding burst of pain. Finally he swallowed and, completely composed, went into the living from and took his cloak off of its hook.

She followed him.

"You're going? " Hermione was never one to let things confuse her. When faced with something she didn't understand, she found it useless to gawk at it wondering 'Why?' when the much more practical question of 'How?' could be simply answered with the right research , the right attitude, and a little bit of observation. So when Snape looked at her, he wondered briefly if she was ill or perhaps disgusted with something before settling on the conclusion that she was totally and utterly perplexed.

"Wha- But why! You just said yourself that your part has been played. You…"

"I thought it had been." She quickly shuffled to intercept him at the top of the stairs.

"So stay."

"I would if this message were any less urgent… Or I may have. But this."

He held out his arm to her. The black ink was riling under his skin, and the veins in his arm were so protrusive and blue they looked painful.

"This is just for me,"

She took it in her hands, and as she had done once before, soothed it over gently with her fingers.

She calmly leveled her gaze at him.

"So, I'm guessing that this evening has broken into the top 5?"

He barely smiled at her,

"Number one with a bullet."

"We'll be there. You just have to make it to sunrise. Is there anything else we need to know?"

"I hope not. No, Dumbledore has it all, just…"

She was still holding on to his arm.

"Just be safe."

And he was gone. 

Hermione spent the remaining forty minutes before the meeting in Snape's quarters, most of that time with a thick, dusty book of Ancient legend that she had found on his coffee table, suggesting it had been recently used. She guessed it couldn't have been published any more recently that the 1700s, but she was having a hard time discerning whether or not it was Wizard-make or Muggle. . Most of the tales seemed to be concerned with a time before such lines were so harshly drawn. Twice she thought she noticed the illustrations moving but it was so subtle and quick it may have been nothing more than a trick of the light, or an over-stressed imagination.

A dried sprig of yarrow fell out when she turned a page, and she read the legend it had been marking. It was the tale of long ago from the farthest northern reaches of Britain.

_Once upon a time, there lived an Orkney Woman who was stolen by a Finmen, and whose husband vowed to recapture her. The Man went to a neighboring island of Hoy to seek advice from the Wise Woman who lived there. She told him that the Finmen's island was invisible to mortal eyes, and that was undoubtedly where they had taken his wife. She gave him careful instruction, and he followed it exactly. Every full moon, he went to the great Odin Stone, knelt down, looked through it, and wished to see his wife. He did this for nine months. Finally, on the morning of the last full moon, he brought with him baskets of salt, and after looking through the stone, he gazed out into Eynhallow Sound and there before him was the island. Marshalling his three sons, they set out in their boat. They were waylaid by terrible sea monsters and mermaids, but with their salt and crosses they had made from branches, they easily proved them to be only phantoms of the Finmen's dark magic. Once on shore they were confronted by the very Finman who had taken the Man's wife. Throwing salt in his face, the Man drove him and all of his people and their vile, dank, lecherous existence into the roiling sea. He had his three sons circle the island three times sprinkling salt as they went. And he scored the land with nine crosses, and thus the Island of the Finfolk was cleared of all enchantment and lay bare. Empty and clean to the sight of man and heaven. The Man called it Eynhallow, which meant Holy Isle and a church was raised there. _

Hermione shut the book. It was an interesting tale, but she had a meeting to get to.

A few minutes later, walking down the halls, she met up with Ginny, Neville, and Luna, and the four of them made their way together to the Room of Requirement.

It as slightly smaller than she was used to it, with the banners of all four houses proudly displayed on the far wall, and a wide semicircle of padded folding chairs.

Hermione headed directly to where she saw Dumbledore talking to Harry, his head bent low, concentration hard on his face.

"Snape's been called." She said succinctly.

"Well!" Dumbledore looked only slightly surprised. "That shouldn't change much. He's more than equal to it." He gave an emphatic little nod, then put a hand on her shoulder, "And we'll meet up with him shortly, Ms Granger, so you needn't look so pathetically distraught. "

And with that he walked off towards the center of the circle. Ron was walking toward them, just as Harry said,

"How'd you know what's up with Snape?"

Ron looked quickly from Harry to Hermione, grabbed Harry by his left trapezius and started steering him towards some nearby seats.

"Look. Chairs. We should sit in them. Meeting's starting. "

And indeed as she sat and looked around, Hermione was pleased and shocked to see who had answered the call. She took stock of the entire Weasley clan, including a man that looked shockingly like Molly, his wife, and three of Ron's cousins who looked to be Charlie's age or older, Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye (accompanied by a few similarly weathered looking former Aurors,) most of the former D.A., including Cho, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnegan, all of the Hogwarts staff- Hagrid was standing in one corner, with Fang at his heel, Hannah Abbot and a girl in her early twenties who could only be her sister, Neville's Gran, Luna's father, Mr. and Mrs. Diggory, Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and a young couple Hermione had never met, but whom she recognized from Flourish and Blotts where they worked. There were dozens more she didn't recognize at all. She thought briefly about what she and Snape had just spoken about, and swallowed. Life was in this room. There was so much of it. And it was such a precious thing, her mind boggled at the thought that tonight even a portion of it might be taken away. But these people knew what they faced. That was the reason they chose to face it.

Hermione reached out to Harry and Ron. Sitting there, the three of them in a row, she just held on to them like a lifeline, feeling the fabulous, beautiful, indefinably perplexing power that she was holding in her hands. This incredible power of life and love.

She closed her eyes to try to quell her tears, and, when Dumbledore began to speak, she felt Harry give her a little squeeze as he dislodged himself from her grip. Ron, however, pulled her hand in a questioning manner and when she opened her eyes he was looking at her, mouthing

"You 'k?"

She nodded, honestly, and smiled.

Then she turned her focus to what Dumbledore was saying and the harsh reality of the night.

"We are all gathered tonight due to a common cause," Dumbledore had a voice that, in a breath could silence an army of Cornish pixies.

"I admire you all greatly for choosing to be here, however, if after you hear what task I am to set before you tonight , you choose to make short your allegiance to the newly formed Order of the Phoenix, I will hold none of you in ill regar -"

There had been absolute silence in the room, so when the double doors opened, everyone's attention was rather harshly drawn to the back of the room.

"Shush, Mum, I think they may've begun alread.…"

A tall, slender, light skinned black boy had just come in, followed directly by a woman that could only have been his mother. Hermione instantly knew Blaise Zabini, a seventh year Slytherin with whom she had no contact outside of classes and occasionally seeing him in the company of Draco Malfoy. He had always seemed smart, sly, and vaguely pompous. But honestly she didn't dislike him. The few times they had been thrown together via school projects, she knew him to be diligent, even anal in his work. Now, he was looking thoroughly embarrassed and his mother, a strikingly tall and beautiful woman with streaks of grey shooting though her millions of micro-braids, said, genuinely graciously, and in an accent Hermione couldn't place,

"Sorry we're late, sorry, please continue," then, turning behind her to the still open door, she gestured for someone to come in,

"Coming, Draco?"

There were at least four wands pointed at him before he was even over the threshold.


	21. Twenty

Author's Note:

Thank you all for reading. Enjoy. All praise to JK Rowling.

* * *

Draco looked up to see the welcome he had received and shrunk away from it wincing, his hands held in front of him.

Hermione had had nearly nothing to do with him so far this year. Although in thinking on it, she realized that she shared more classes with him than with either Harry or Ron. But he hadn't bothered her. He hadn't done anything to make up for his years of being an unutterable dick-wad either, though, so she hadn't really spared him a moment's thought. And strangely, looking at him now, as slight and pale and pointed as he had always been, her first thoughts weren't whether he belonged here in this room, but rather whether or not Snape knew where his head boy stood on this chilly evening in late October.

"Please lower your wands, Gentlemen," Dumbledore said levelly. "And Mr. Malfoy, please come here."

Draco adjusted his steel grey suit jacket and walked towards him. When he got there Dumbledore crooked a pointer at him and leaned his head in, indicating that he wished a private conversation. When he spoke however, his modulated undertone was perfectly audible to everyone in the room.

"I must admit I am both surprised and pleased to see you here tonight, Draco."

He placed a hand on his shoulder, and brought him in even closer. The two were of a height and Dumbledore's eyes delved searchingly and evenly into Draco's across the short gap.

"And while in a few days time, over a warm cup of tea, I would love to hear _why_ you have chosen to come to this meeting tonight, I'm afraid that we haven't the time just now. "

He smiled, and tightened his grip on his shoulder.

"For know I just need for you to answer a few questions for me honestly."

Draco looked up at him, and from where she was sitting in the front row, Hermione could see his brave face beginning to break as his dark eyes began to fill, and his narrow, delicate chin begin to shake.

"Do you believe this world will be a better place without Lord Voldemort in it?"

Draco was crying freely now, but his voice didn't even falter as he replied,

"Yes,"

"And do you understand that if you do choose to stand with us that may result in injury to yourself, even death?

He was gently shaking away his tears now, his head held tall.

"Yes,"

"And finally… and understand I wouldn't ask this unless I felt it absolutely necessary, Draco. "

Dumbledore's voice softened

"Does your father know where you are?"

Draco lost it, crumbling into the older man's shoulder, but everyone heard his response, muffled though it was,

"No,"

He patted him briefly, and smiled up at the Blaise's mother who had been standing with her son on the inside of the semicircle. As Draco dislodged himself Dumbledore gently gestured them all to some empty chairs and said,

"Miz Jeanette, how lovely to see you again, please make yourself comfortable."

He turned his attention back to the group at large and said,

"Perfect. Now that that is cleared up, I ask that we return to the matter at hand. "

"Professor." Ron was the only one still standing up, although the twins were looking more tightly coiled than usual, and while Mad-Eye had lowered his wand he certainly hadn't pocketed it.

"Mr. Weasley, we are on a schedule."

"Yeah, one that can be completely ruined by anyone thick enough to trust this git."

Dumbledore looked at him appraisingly and Ron blushed.

"…No offence meant, Professor."

Hermione tugged on his sleeve, and whispered,

"Ron, let it go,"

"No, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley has a right to voice his concerns if he believes them relevant to the cause. That is how a democratic collective should function. "

"Well,"

Ron had the floor and every eye was on him. He swallowed and stood up a little straighter.

"I can't trust him."

Malfoy was on the edge of his seat looking unsure of whether or not he should stand up during this exchange.

"Hm. I asked Mr. Malfoy some questions just now hoping to answer that rather fickle question of trust. And I, obviously, came to the conclusion that my trust would not be misplaced in this young man. I asked my questions in the clear view of everyone hoping that while, undoubtedly they would have questions of their own, my experience would allow them to trust my judgment in this. You are saying that my judgment is not enough for you?

Ron was beet red but he didn't so much as stutter.

"Not in this professor."

"Than you must do something to either change your mind or prove your doubts, and do it quickly. I'll have you know that if I allowed every person in this room to question their childhood rivals we'd be here until the twelfth of Never."

"Ok, just…" Ron walked over just as Malfoy was standing up. The redhead glanced back at Harry and swallowed. Draco's eyes were dry, if slightly red and he glared at Ron evenly.

"What, Weasley?" His glance darted towards the center of the room where the large clutch of Weasleys stood. "… What could I possibly say…?"

The look in Ron's eye and the timbre of his voice took Hermione aback. She had never seen the man in him, not like this.

"What do you love, in this world?"

Draco snorted, smirking and shaking his head, but there was a crease of concern knitted between his thin brows.

"You owe him an answer," Dumbledore's voice was soft. "We would all appreciate an answer."

Draco dropped his head, and you could hear a pin drop. However when he answered he looked Ron directly in the eye.

"Nothing…"

Ron closed his eyes. When he opened them his lashes were wet.

"…Nothing except for my life. And if I let my father dictate what I do with it, it won't last long…"

He looked for the first time towards Harry, and Hermione, and tentatively at the entire assembly.

"… and if it does it won't be a life worth living. I mean, the things they make you do, you wouldn't believe,"

He was getting worked up now.

" I was sixteen, _sixteen_ when they branded me. Sixteen when they made me a murderer. That's not the life of a man, that's the life of a monster…"

"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore touched him lightly on the shoulder. "I believe I said earlier that tonight we don't have time for the whys and the wherefores."

He nodded and, glancing over to where Ron stood, still as a stature, he went back to his seat.

As Ron was going to sit down Dumbledore cocked an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction.

"Well, I'm still not going to invite him 'round for tea and toast anytime soon, but I guess we can use all the support we can get."

Slowly Hermione felt the tension in the room begin to dissipate.

'Good, good," Dumbledore said softly to himself. He appeared to be lost somewhere in the middle distance for a few moments before shaking himself back into the present. Hermione thought that she understood. This wasn't the first time Dumbledore had found a soul teetering on the brink of oblivion and cast it a line.

"Now, without further delays… "

Once again his voice boomed over the crowd, holding everyone's attention perfectly captive.

The reason I have called you all here tonight is because at break of day tomorrow, Mr. Potter has decided to confront Voldemort."

There was a measurable amount of shuffling and muted exclamation at this. Hermione gave Harry a motherly pat on the knee.

"There is nothing special, magically or historically, about October the 29th, however it was chosen as the ideal date due to the fact that it is now, rather than later. We have chosen morning for the simple reason that it will grant us light, and perhaps separate our foes from the darkness in which they prefer to dwell. So that covers the When. As for the Where, we will be calling on Tom Riddle at his most recently known whereabouts, a small island in the Orkneys at which he has been spending much of his time of late."

Harry got up to join Dumbledore. He quickly and nervously looked about the collection of friends and strangers before speaking.

"And as for the Who, that's kind of the most important. Because if everything goes well, I hope most of you won't see any fighting tomorrow. We're going to organize four tiers of offense. The first, headed by Dumbledore and I, will be arriving by non magical transportation. We can't apparate in because the island is so well warded, and we can't well, lay siege, because that would just be asking for the exact type of war we don't want. If we need to call in the reinforcements, the second tier will apparate in at our call… we'll make sure there is a way open to you. We've organized tier leaders, so just hold tight and they'll call their members in a minute."

He swallowed and glanced quickly to Dumbledore before continuing.

"We'll do everything we can to avoid it, but… if you are called up, come in prepared to fight. Hopefully the island will be pretty deserted at this time of day, which is frankly alright by me. It's Voldemort we want... He doesn't know it yet, but tomorrow will be a very big day for him."

Hermione's stomach clenched. She looked at Harry and, hating herself, wondered for the first time if Snape _would_ be equal to the enormity of his task tonight. If he gave anything of their plan away they could be walking straight into a trap. Would they be able to tell… to sense… if Voldemort broke him? Wouldn't Dumbledore?

Wouldn't she?

But she couldn't dwell on it. The large group had broken up into smaller ones and names were being called and shoulders tapped. The secondary and tertiary tiers would soon head off to their safe apparition points outside of the castle, and the fourth tier would head back to a safehouse in London, prepared to, if everything was turned on it's ear, contact the few remaining trustworthy members of the ministry, the E.U.'s and U.N's Wizrding contingencies… anyone who would listen.

She couldn't believe how much she ached for Snape to be here, stoic and strong, at her side. She hated that he was forced to continue his charade, even for one more night. But she swallowed her fears and apprehensions. Briefly, she thought of her parents, completely oblivious to danger at home in London. If she stopped kidding herself she could recognize that they were in much more danger than she had ever been able to admit to herself these past few months.

She steeled herself, and walked to Harry's side.


	22. Twenty One

Author's Note: I apologize for the recent lack of updates. Thank you all for your patience and kind words. Now... the saga continues.

* * *

Hermione, Ron and Harry, and Neville were part of the primary offensive along with Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Mad-Eye and the slightest of his Auror friends, a mousy-haired fellow named Stritch. With them were Tonks, Bill and Charlie, and a Weasley cousin named Samwell who apparently worked in the States for the British Ambassador to the American Magical Congress, and his American girlfriend… also strangely enough named Sam, who taught Defense at a school near DC.

McGonagall was getting to the end of her roll call when Dumbledore took her lightly by the elbow and whispered something in her ear. She looked at him slightly inquisitively, but said in a sure tone,

"Draco Malfoy,"

Malfoy turned sharply, looking a more than a little overwhelmed , shook hands with Blaise and his mother and tentatively made his way over to the first tier. Hermione was hanging around on the fringe of the group, as the Weasleys were in the middle of bidding some rather heated farewells (there was, apparently, an issue with Ginny refusing to leave Harry's side), and she nodded her head towards Draco in welcome.

"Hey," he said

"Hey, indeed."

He swallowed and looked interestedly at his shoes.

"Look, Malfoy, I think it's great that you're not actually, you know, evil or whatever, but if you're as meek and mopey as you are right now tomorrow morning with an army of Death Eaters staring you in the face, I'd really rather you just stay here and not risk the chance of getting anybody I love killed. "

He was silent for a long moment before saying,

"No, I mean, yes I wasn't quite prepared to hear that we were going _tonight_, but I need to be there. I need to look my father in the eye and let him know that I loathe everything he has worked so hard to try and make me become. Besides, I'll be the only one who's actually been to the island. "

Hermione felt her stomach drop.

"Hopefully not…"

Draco looked confused by that, but their group was mobilizing and making its way towards the entrance. At the first staircase Ron and Neville caught up with her. Apparently Ginny had proven stubborn enough to earn her a spot in the first tier, although it came as a 2-for-1-Weasly bundle as Molly wouldn't hear of letting her daughter go without her.

"With Dad leading the second tier with Lupin and Kingsley, and me and Bill an' Charlie here, I'm almost wondering if this was Mum's plan all along."

"Speaking of plans," said Neville, " Dumbledore was a little vague about the details… where are we going exactly?"

"To kill Voldemort, you lumpty dolt, where did you think were going?"

"Iknow _that_…"

They were just exiting the Great Hall, and the night air was crisp and clean. Hermione could see Orion clear as glass above her.

"… I just mean how are we gonna get there?"

Ron grinned and clapped an arm around Neville.

"Well, now that is just the best part of the plan, it's genius, wait'll you see."

The group seemed so small to Hermione as they made their purpose-driven trek across the vast lawn to a garden patch on the south end of the lake. There were so few of them. She glanced back, and saw Dumbledore conferring quietly with Draco and Flitwick as they walked along together. Draco was gesturing and pointing with his fingers, Hermione assumed he was describing their destination. Harry was laughing about something with Sam and Sam, and McGonagall was looking at them as though she didn't know whether to laugh or deduct house points. Hermione looked back towards the castle. So many small, innocent heads lie inside of it, safe and snug on their pillows. She realized that if this valiant rabble didn't succeed, tomorrow morning those little heads might wake up to a reality much harsher than they should ever have to face.

She sniffed dramatically and said,

"Genius, Ron? I don't know about that. But I must admit…"

The three had stopped in front of the double doors of a giant garden shed, all overgrown with weeds, and the rest of the group slowly accumulated around them. She put her hand on Neville's shoulder as Ron flicked his wand and the doors flew wide.

"… It is really. Fucking. Cool."

They stood, looking in the dim light of the moon and a few lighted wands at an ancient yellow school bus parked in the middle of the shed.

"Language, Miss Granger,"

"Sorry, Professor McGonagall."

* * *

… _a few hours earlier_…

* * *

Outside of the castle gates, Snape stopped and breathed deep. The night air was so crisp it was almost painful in his lungs and the waxing moon was so large and clear he felt he could reach out and touch it. In the depths of the Forbidden Forest something dark stirred quickly from it's hiding place and disappeared into the shadows. Snape rather envied it.

He exhaled, closed his eyes, and clenched his teeth briefly in concentration. When he opened them, there was no light left in his eyes. Finally ready, he put the tip of his wand to the mark on his arm, and apparated.

* * *

"Severus, good man, what has kept you at this hour."

Voldemort gestured grandly towards a chair. It was in front of a table laid well with Cornish game hens, roasted carrots and parsnips, a thick compote of some kind of berry, and large heavy loaves of brown bread.

"Actually, Lord, I was just finishing supper,"

"A pity. Be seated anyway. I shall eat."

He wouldn't, Snape know. Voldemort always enjoyed being lavishly feasted but he never did more than pick and play at it his food. He wondered if he could even taste it anymore.

"Of course," He sat to his Lord's right, and unbidden, a large goblet of red appeared in front of him. He dutifully sipped it.

The structure was more ruin than manor, and a healthy draft was giving the candles something to dance about. On his way in, Snape had only seen Wormtail, who had greeted him at the gate, and Nagini, who was curled about the feet of her master's chair overtly eyeing a hen, but the manor was larger than it looked, he knew, and there were many rooms on the floor above them, and in the dungeons below that could be hiding heaven knows how many.

"A Fine house-muggle, to be sure, she does a fine job with such faire."

He pointedly smeared some bread with the gelatinous red compote.

"And from what Dolohov tells me she's good for more than bread, so long as you know a good silencing charm." Snape supposed that Voldemort's smile was meant to be conspiratorial and mischievous, but like everything else about him, it just came off as vile.

Snape knew when to play the game, and more than that he knew that it was just that for Voldemort: a game. He was about as interested in sex as he was in food. He enjoyed the pain, to be sure, and would utilize it in the most terrifying of circumstances, but Snape seriously doubted that Voldemort would ever have the inclination to use a Muggle slave just to get off. Dolohov, on the other hand…

"Is that what all this is about, some two-bit attempt to get me laid? Well, if Dolohov's Muggle whore is the best you've got, I think I'll pass. Honestly, it sounds more like a rouse to give me the pox. Dolohov… really!"

Voldemort's high, clear laugh signaled that he had played the right move. That was always it with him, one move after another.

"No, Severus, no. I think after all these years I know you better than that. Although the invitation is of course open to you. No, I needed you here tonight. I needed someone with mettle enough to tell me the truth."

Snape sipped his wine.

"Finally realized you've surrounded yourself with sycophants, have you? Well, I'm here to serve, My Lord."

"Nonsense, sycophants have their multitudinous and valuable uses. You, on the other hand seem to have very few uses of late."

Snape let himself tense slightly, it would have only been natural. He put down his goblet and let the Dark Lord continue.

"You arrive late, you act as though everything bores you, you deign to condescend to a few of the less intellectually sound members of this brave collective, you bandy with Lucious and I and then you make your exit. If I didn't know how dear our cause was to you I may have to think you are less than pure-hearted."

He ripped a tiny wing off of his bird, and picked at the exposed flesh of the breast.

Rarely did Voldemort ever use Legilimency openly on his Death Eaters. And when he did, even the most skilled Occlumen was useless. Voldemort could see the blocks, he wouldn't necessarily be able to know what it was that you were hiding, but he would know that you were hiding something, and that was enough. Luckily, Snape was more than a skilled Occlumen. And luckily, as of yet tonight he hadn't felt even the slightest hint of Voldemort's mind trying to invade his.

"But, alas, I do know how preciously you value our ideals. And I apologize for failing to put you to better use these past years. I mentioned exactly that to some friends earlier this evening. "

Snape allowed himself to relax.

"Oh, and to what use do you plan to put me?"

"Is it just me, Severus, or does Halloween night seem a lovely time to kill Harry Potter?"

In all of his years as a double agent in situations that threatened not only his life but those of countless around him, Snape had never had as hard a time stifling his true emotions. All he wanted to do was laugh. Potter's impetuosity had beaten Voldemort's by a mere two days.

"Seems fine, indeed," He raised his glass. "What's the plan, My Lord?"

"Well it seems that between you and the Malfoy boy we should be able to get Potter out of the castle. Maybe during that insufferable feast. Yes, he won't be missed in the crowd. "

Snape certainly wasn't about to point out that Potter's friends most certainly would miss him at such a time. He was more concerned with Draco's sudden involvement in this. He had heard that the boy had been branded last year, but he hadn't even seen him out side of school. Luscious had bragged a bit over him at first, but honestly Snape hadn't made much of it.

"Can the boy be trusted with such a task?"

"Who's trusting him? I'm trusting you, and I'm hoping that he's capable enough to follow your lead. You've been his head of house for seven years, certainly that mustn't count for naught. I'll need you to make a quick, clean departure. No one is to see or suspect anything. But you've never been one to waste magic for a bit of flash, have you? You will bring Potter here to me here. Separate from Dumbledore and his pitiful little friends, it will be a simple matter of stepping on an ant. I shall not wait any longer. When Potter dies, I hope to draw Dumbledore from his tower, and meet him on a field covered in the blood of the he Muggles he loves so dear.

"I'll take care of the details with Draco, and we will come to you with the boy in tow."

Voldemort stretched his lips wide and thin across his face. His sharp yellow teeth parted and his bifurcated tongue flitted between them.

Snape smiled back.


	23. Twenty Two

They only took a few minutes to get loaded in to the bus, but just as everyone was finally sitting down, Dumbledore abruptly got up, excused himself and walked out the door. Sixteen noses pressed against their windows, looking out at the headmaster. He calmly conjured a small room on a corner of the shed, and seemingly satisfied, nodded to himself. Then he walked inside. Three minutes later he emerged, walked back onto the bus, and addressing everyone, said,

"The only enchantment on this old heap is a bottomless tank of gas, which means no stops between here and Wyre. So if you have need of the facilities, kindly see to it now."

Nearly everyone got up and it was almost a half an hour before Ron put the bus into gear and slowly headed them down the drive towards the main gate.

The roads were bare, which was excellent news as Ron seemed to find it hard to stick to a lane. For a few moments Hermione thought that Ron would kill them all, leaving Voldemort the victor by default. "Evil Triumphs over good, Good literally driven into the ground," headlines would read. But Ron hit his stride soon enough. Arthur Weasley's insistence that his children never take Muggle skills for granted may yet prove to help save the world. They were on the road. The mood was as muted and charged as any Hermione could recall, and soon even the few scattered and hushed conversations people had been attempting petered to a halt.

Hermione looked up to where Harry was sitting by himself directly behind the driver's seat. Ginny and Molly were sitting opposite him, and Hermione could tell that Ginny was trying to catch her boyfriend's eye. Harry, however, was staring out of the window, lost in thought.

Tentatively, Hermione stood up and went to sit beside Dumbledore. Harry, sitting directly in front of Dumbledore, briefly looked back at them, and then resumed whatever ruminations that her movement had interrupted.

"Professor, could I have a word? "

He looked at her as interestedly as though she were the answer to all the Sphynx's riddles, smiled, and said

"You may have as many as you know,"

She loved him just then. She knew he would be interested in what she wanted to say, but she knew also that if she were a first year with a trivial transfiguration question, or a man on the street asking him the time of day, or a Muggle man imploring him to help make sense of the world he had just learned his daughter belonged to, they would all receive the same attention. That was Dumbledore's greatest magic, the ability to care deeply. To be willing to work with anyone to help them solve any problem. To look them in the eyes, and to see them as worthwhile.

She couldn't help but think of Snape.

"It's funny, I've never even heard of this Eynhallow before tonight, and just before the meeting I ran across a story about it in this old book of legends."

"Oh, I don't see how that's funny. I assume it was the same book I lent Severus a number of weeks ago when he first told me that Tom had moved there. "

Hermione chose to ignore the altogether too cheeky twinkle in his eye and continued.

"Yes, but isn't it strange that Voldemort would choose a place that Muggles reclaimed from Wizards… I mean from the story it sounded as though they scoured the land of all its magic."

"It sounded as though…"

He turned from her in thought,

"Yes I suppose it may sound that way, but perhaps the way it sounds and the way it _is_ are different. "

Dumbledore closed his eyes and softly, but in a voice as clear as glass began,

"Eynhallow fair, Eynhallow free

Eynhallow sits in the middle of the sea

A roaring roost on every side

Eynhallow sits in the middle of the tide." *

Every eye in the bus was on them, and as Hermione looked around they slowly diverted their gaze. No one was disused to Dumbledore's slightly dramatic tendencies, but his recitation had certainly drawn everyone's attention.

"What's that mean?"

"Mean? Well, it's poetry, so mostly it means nothing, my dear. Although if you were asking in the literal sense it means exactly what it says. This Isle of Eynhallow is, indeed, one of the most blustery, inhospitable places imaginable. Sounds like just the sort of place Tom would desire to set up house. And I admit that I had the same thought as you when I first heard he had chosen this place: Why a place that is seemingly the antithesis of the very Magic he holds so dear. I do not doubt that he sees it as some sort of righteous reclamation. Wizards taking back a place where once Man had cast them out. But I have come to think that Tom has it upside down. As with so much, his prejudices are blinding him to the truth. Give a man enough zealous conviction and you can hold a banana in front of him and he'll tell you its penny-whistle."

"Tom , like you, took these folk-tales at face value. The Finmen are the villains here, if I remember correctly?"

"Yes, I'd never heard of them before, but from the context they seem kind of like a cross between Sorcerers and Selkies."

"Yes, yes, no doubt that is exactly what the good Man of Thorodale, who so faithfully sought to retrieve his beloved, and his people thought of them. Although here is where the issue becomes decidedly less clear: I have no idea if the Finmen even were Wizards. More likely they were natives of a neighboring island who garnered a reputation, true or not, of rape, pillage, and kidnap. Such stories of their prowess and wickedness naturally become exaggerated until they were built up to be powerful magicians, evil and cunning. So no, Miss Granger, I do not believe that this is a story of Man's defeat of Wizard. I believe this to be a much more telling tale. One that Tom would not be able to comprehend even if it were spelt out for him..."

"I believe this is a tale of how a Wizard creates himself."

Hermione let her confusion sit for a minute. Harry slowly turned around to engage in the conversation. He had clearly been listening.

"How a Wizard… I'm sorry, what, Professor?"

"Well its right there in the story. A Man's wife is kidnapped, and he vows to get her back. Through ritual, faith, some words, some wisdom and maybe even some blind dumb luck he succeeds. He looks though a stone and sees what was not there. He is threatened by beasts that when are threatened back disappear. He fights off an entire population with some woven sticks and a handful of salt. The legend is no doubt convoluted and unreliable, but from the sound of it, this is a man who bent the very nature of reality to his own ends. A common man who managed to find a little magic."

Hermione was speechless. She had never thought to think that Magic was there for the taking. Just an arms length away for anyone who troubled themselves to reach out.

"But, sir, I… you, me… my parents…" Hermione was rarely agawk, and she paused just for a moment to appreciate the feeling.

"I guess I don't understand. I mean, if what you are saying is true, than how are there any Muggles? Why can't everyone… I don't know… tap into it?"

"I admit that I don't entirely know the answer, Ms Granger. But think. If what I am saying isn't true, than how do you explain _you..." _

Dumbledore raised his right hand, snapped his fingers, and there floating in his palm was a tiny bluebird. It shimmered and shone with an incandescent light as it ruffled up its incorporeal feathers happily. And then it took flight. Suddenly it wasn't a bird anymore but hundreds of fluffy little dandelion seeds, floating through the windows of the bus, and out into the dark of the night.

"…how do you explain any of it?"

The three of them sat in silence for a bit.

"It's so easy for Ron." Harry's voice was quiet. "I don't mean spells and stuff, he's fair rubbish at some of that… I mean this world. He just accepts magic because it is the world he grew up in. I _thought _that I spent the first ten years of my life trying to convince myself that the things I'd do accidentally, the magic I couldn't control wasn't real, that it was made up, or that I was crazy. But I know in the heart of me that that's not true. I needed it to be real. The way I grew up, the life I lived… I needed it to exist. And then… it did. It _was_ only a matter of recognizing it."

"I agree with you that it is easier for young Wizards to find their magic because of the way in which they are brought up. But even then, we all know, there are Squibs. I may posit a guess that it is an intrinsically personal, internalized quest on which each soul must embark wholly alone… and at a young age at that. All evidence suggests that it's almost impossible after a certain age. All this reminds me that I really must see to reinstating a Magical Theory course for the sixth and seventh years. I'm afraid that tonight we are going to see the very worst possible conclusion a Wizard can come to when he misunderstands the very nature of magic. Ah Tom! He has spent so long manipulating his power to manipulate those around him. Whatever magic is, it is never a tool or a gift. It's a bit like love in that respect. They both come from somewhere impossible to define."

Hermione didn't have time to respond. Suddenly there was heavy thud on the roof of the bus.

Something had just fallen out of the sky.

* * *

_* all the information about Orkney history/ folklore, including this poem, is credited to .com. (a v. cool site by the by, if you've got the time and inclination.)_


	24. Twenty Three

Author's Note: A per usual all praise and laude (and legal rights) belong to JK Rowling. God bless the talented broad. Thank you all for reading.

* * *

Snape didn't have time be disoriented even though he was probably zipping along at a healthy fifty-five miles per hour on top of a big yellow school bus. He had barely caught his footing before the door of the rooftop emergency exit flew open wide and three heads popped out, wands drawn.

"Severus? "

The middle head, characteristically clad in it's perfectly clichéd witch's hat evidently belonged to Minerva McGonagall .

"Yes, Merlin, help me in!" The bus had taken a violent surge left… immediately followed by a violent lurch to the right and they were definitely picking up speed.

Bill Weasley's head disappeared below the surface of the roof top and Snape heard him shout.

"Oi, Ron, stop it, they're friendly!"

Once the bus stopped trying to shake him off it was fairly easy to make his way in a low crouch to the exit. He dropped lightly into the aisle below and the first thing he heard, from a pair of surprisingly good-humored green eyes looking at him out of the rear-view mirror, was,

"Thought you said he was friendly,"

"SEVERUS!" And there was Hermione, hugging him so tightly, and so enthusiastically that he could only match her fervor by picking her up, and attempting to spin her around. Later, on reflection, Severus would recognize that trying this in such a limited space was probably ill-advised. He succeeded in bashing her against a seat, rather hard. So it goes. But she really didn't seem to mind. In fact, she was laughing, and so was he, and soon so was everyone. By some strange means, Severus Snape found himself in the middle of a bus load of people who somehow, some way, were genuinely chuffed to see him.

At least that's what he thought until he heard a bellow from the back of the bus.

"HEY!"

Draco Malfoy was standing in the glow coming in the giant rear window, wand drawn and looking for all the world as though he were about to either faint or kill, and he hadn't yet made up his mind.

"YOU ARE ALL BLOODY MAD!"

"Draco…" Dumbledore began, but Snape held up his hand and took a step towards the boy, his wand was held lightly at his side.

For a moment the two of them just looked at one another. Draco kept glancing at Hermione as though her head had been replaced with a blast-ended skrewt. Snape he looked at with such pain, and such confusion.

Snape looked at the boy appraisingly for the barest moment... and then the beautiful, twisted, perfect irony of it all hit him.

"Draco," He pocketed his wand and took a step closer. Draco retreated backward a step and found himself backed into a wall.

"… you are here, in this place, in this company, on this night… in no one's interests but your own?"

He nodded, the skeptical look on his face beginning to dawn into positive disbelief.

"And you, Professor…" Once again for some reason Draco glanced at Hermione. "You are too."

"Well," Snape said, this time addressing mostly Dumbledore. "This just makes tonight… _hugh_! _Gfaaa!_"

And he started laughing again.

"Either check yourself into Bedlam, Severus or let us all in on the joke!" McGonagall intoned imperiously.

Slowly everyone resumed their seats and the conversation took on a slightly more business-like manner.

"I have just met with Lord Voldemort, and he has no idea of our plan. He did, however call me to him to make plans for the esteemed Mr. Malfoy here and I to attempt to kill Potter in two days time. "

And in vocalizing it the very glimmer of any laughter in him left. Indeed the mood in the bus seemed to sail right past the irony of Voldemort's two hand-picked assassins actually being in bed with the enemy. The atmosphere settled into a sort of strange prickly silence. If Severus were only slightly more in tune with such things, he would have felt a collective silent prayer of thanks wash over them.

After a brief, succinct conversation with Harry and Dumbledore, Snape made his way to sit just opposite Draco, attempting periodically to make eye contact. Something inside him didn't sit right with how he had learned of this new development in his head boy's life. In the past, he would have let whatever strain on whatever relationship they may have had go on uncommented, and unimpeded by verbal resolution. And honestly he might not have cared. But now, he felt he owed the boy something. And even though his heart-to-heart skills were more than rusty, he cleared his throat and attempted to bridge the gap between them.

"Draco..."

The way the boy looked at him shut him up immediately. The withering glare held clearly an uncompromising and irreproachable hate. Hate and hurt.

"No. No, Snape. I can't get into this. Tonight isn't even begun yet. I don't have the energy for it."

He swallowed and for a split second Severus thought that that would be the end of it. He'd tried. He'd failed. But Draco violently leant back across the aisle,

"Just know this. I spent a lot of time trusting you as a kid, you know. Respecting you. And then, as I got older and the way of it all became clear, that respect turned to hatred. But I could still trust you. I could trust you to play the perfect Slytherin in class. I could trust you to spew the most denigrating bullshit in those fucking meetings with Crabbe and Goyle and I. Every time I was called, I could trust you to be there, at his right hand. And now I learn… I don't know the details, but I think that if I did I may be able to respect you again. But just know this: I can never trust you. I sat in your office. Just me and you. On multiple occasions. And all you ever gave me was evil, and hate, and this Pure-blood superiority bullshit. And now I learn it was all just a line. You didn't ever even try to see me. To save me. Fuck you."

Snape clenched his jaw. Draco had resumed looking out the window. Slowly Snape got up and made his way to the front of the bus. He could see that the man clearly wanted to be left alone.

Another few minutes passed in relative silence and then Ron said matter-of-factly,

"Five miles 'til our exit."

"Excellent, beautiful," Dumbledore got up and, beginning to pace the aisle, addressed everyone.

"Once we get to the coast all we have to do is grab a ferry to the isle. From there we proceed as covertly as possible. Although there is to be no magic until we are absolutely sure we have already been detected. According to Mr. Malfoy, we'll find the Manor about a quarter of a mile up a hill, from the docks. Severus says that it was relatively deserted earlier this evening. They only people we know we will meet this morning will be Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew. Although if given even half a chance, Voldemort will make a call far and wide for his Death Eaters to come and fight. I don't seek to provide you false hope. Once Voldemort realizes he is being openly defied, anything is imaginable. I ask you only to keep in mind the love and respect you hold for all Human-kind as you meet whatever destiny this dawn provide you. Thank you all."

Snape saw Hermione glance around her until her eyes found his. She got up and made her way to sit with him. Silently she found his hand and gave it a squeeze. He didn't let go.

The eastern sky was already beginning to pale when the bus pulled up into a gravel lot at the northernmost tip of Britain. A ferry, clearly not in use for a number of years, was docked in the tempestuous, grey waters. They boarded silently. Harry looked appraisingly about him and nodded at Dumbledore. Sam and Sam drew up the anchor, and they were on their way.

Hermione stood at the prow with Ron and Harry, feeling the sharp bite of the sea spray on her face and wishing that she had her parents with her. They were safe in London. If they didn't succeed today, she knew that wouldn't be the case for long. With just a bit more license or motivation Voldemort could conceivably change the world. For the hundreds, thousands of loved ones of the people he had already killed, she realized, the world was already awfully and irreparably altered.

She felt terribly small as they were tossed about in the waves.

Through the fog that lay heavy over the water, Hermione began to just make out a distant shore. But as the Sun broke, the haze began to burn away, slowly drawing back its thick miasmic curtains to reveal an island, as battered and bruised, thorny and hostile as any land Hermione could imagine. She felt as though any plant there that had the audacity to retain any sort of green color ought to really find somewhere better to live, because they clearly weren't welcome in this neighborhood. The few shrubs and grasses clinging to the rocks looked wizened and tough. The very land itself seemed to be harboring a palpable unrest.

Slowly, everyone aboard gathered at the front of the boat to watch this land rise up to meet them. The ferry seemed to be pointing itself towards the nearest thing to a beach they could see. It decelerated.

Silently they waited to run aground.


	25. Twenty Four

Snape was not unaccustomed to battle. The man had been in more than his fair share of tiffs, duels, youthful scraps… wars. He knew the pain; they physical, bone-tired exhaustion of the battlefield, the terrible anticipation making you so tight you could snap. The chaos and the cruelty. The feel of nothing more than you enemy's hate for you ripping through your flesh. The taste of hot blood in the back of your mouth.

He supposed that every one of those experiences, in some part, had been preparing him for today. He sort of wished they hadn't.

Part of him just wanted to rewind the past twenty years, to take back his first terrible decision, and the next and the next. He would even give back the tiny ounce of redemption he may have gained since then. He would give anything to be seventeen again, and angry and confused, and told the most beautiful lies, and to say no. To walk away and to find a path that wasn't littered with the detritus of this life so poorly lived. But he couldn't erase those years. And even if he could, he knew that they would still count for something.

But he was here, carrying this stain, and walking in the soft light of Morning in a group of people who were, essentially, good. Snape was not one to hold any illusions about the intrinsic nature of man, but he had learned once, long ago, that everyone holds within them a sense of right and wrong, and that kidding yourself about on which side of that precarious line your actions fall is the most damning thing one can do to a soul.

But now was not the time to ponder the intricacies of existence.

Honestly, it was almost ridiculous how brazenly they were striding up to manor. He eyed the crenellations and thought briefly that they could all be dead without a moment's warning. But luckily, his worries weren't proven likely. They reached the door at six on the dot. Harry motioned for the group to stay back, nodded to Flitwick, Charlie, and Stritch who each took up position in a flank, or rear, respectively, inhaled deeply, and walked up to knock on the door. Snape noticed that Dumbledore took one small, quickly aborted step after him. He wondered if the old Wizard was having a hard time letting go. Hermione stood resolutely at his side; the old man and the young woman. Snape realized, as the two stood side by side that they may be something like kindred spirits. And as Harry Potter knocked on the front door of Pandora's box, inviting death and destruction down on them, Snape allowed himself, just for a moment, to realize what these two people meant to him, and to love them deeply for it.

But then Harry's voice interrupted his thoughts, the boy pounded on the door and cast a Sonorus charm on himself.

"Open up, Tom. We'd like a chat."

Voldemort reacted immediately. A nearby tree, the only prominent feature of the barren space on the hill below the House, broke into a thousand splinters that came hurtling towards them. Thankfully, the protection charms from the Flitwick, Charlie, and Stritch had been cast just in time. Harry made a mad dash back towards the group as a smallish barrage of who knows which spells rained on them for a short minute. But with Mad-Eye and McGonagall adding their charms into the mix, they where mostly absorbed into the protective sheild.

The assault died down and Neville piped up.

"So people definitely can't apparate inside the manor, right, because we could very well be here till spring if they can. "

Snape was only mildly shocked at the boy's astute observation, which had of course been well thought over in their impromptu strategy meeting, but which could look to be a huge oversight if, like Longbottom and most of those present, you had been left out of the tactical loop. He was preparing to answer him, but Draco spoke up first.

"No one apparates into the house. Even w- Even Death Eaters can't. There's no floo either. So if he really is alone in there, than he's only got two options, stay and starve… if he can, or call in reinforcements. And let me tell you, if people start apparating in, this is where they'll do it."

Draco 's glance briefly fell on Snape, but he quickly moved it to Dumbledore, and continued,

"It's a good plan. Either he goes it alone, or he calls men in and places them right in our laps."

And as if on cue, the first infantry arrived. And the battle began in earnest.

It took a good fifteen minutes before the protection bubble was completely broken, and then Snape found himself back to back with the youngest Weasley. Curses flew furiously overhead, and everywhere sparks and clods of dirt ricocheted round them. Ginny was deathly fast, and between the two of them they took out two masked Death Eaters. Unfortunately, two more immediately seemed to take their place. Voldemort rarely had his full forces assembled, but Snape had honestly not guessed it to be this large. At least fifty people had been summoned. Who knew how many more had yet to arrive. He couldn't keep track of where everyone was, his only thought was of survival, of a familiar voice whispering to him that '_life is too dear.' _He only realized peripherally that there were a number of people on the ground that weren't getting up. And then, as he heard a terrifying growl and a truly anguished scream, he realized why, in part the numbers seemed so much inflated. Fenrir Greyback and his cohorts had arrived. Bill Weasley lay on the ground as his brother Charlie tried to physically pry off his lycanthropic attacker. Ginny turned on her heel and tore across the battlefield.

"REDUCTO!" She shrieked. And the werewolf was blasted to the side, he flipped a full 360* in the air before landing with a sickening crunch. Charlie was knocked backward, but Snape's attention was required elsewhere. Somehow Crabbe Sr. had found his way to his side, and with a nod towards where Hermione and Neville were helping Samwell to his feet forty yards away, he said,

"You take the ginger, I'll take the dolt, and if we stun the Mudblood, we can both take her later. Whadda say?"

Severus sniffed once, calmly switched his wand to his other hand, and punched him clean in the face.

It hurt, as any punch worth giving will. But boy was it satisfying. Crabbe fell like a ton of bricks.

The upheaval on the hill died down alarmingly quickly, and somehow, everyone's attention was on him. It was as if every person there took a collective breath as the dawn of realization hit the Death Eaters.

If Voldemort hadn't yet recognized or realized exactly what part Snape was playing in this bloody fray, there was no doubt now.

Every eye was on him.

Severus briefly caught Hermione begin to come to him out of the corner of his eye, and he shook his head once, emphatically, hoping against hope that she would follow his instructions for once. He didn't want her anywhere near him. Not with what was about to come. He could feel him approaching.

And on a cold wind, in a furious dervish of smoke and ash, Lord Voldemort flew into the middle of the battlefield.

One or two of the Death Eaters took his arrival as a rallying sign, and began to advance on Severus, but Voldemort motioned them down.

Snape had been dreading this moment for the entirety of his adult life. Dreading it and praying for it.

Voldemort stood twenty strides up the hill from him. He said nothing. He only leveled his red gaze at him, waiting.

No one dared stir in what felt like that eternal silence.

Severus braced himself. He was ready.

"Do it," he asked.

It was a strange feeling, letting another mind invade your own… as though you were offering them up your underwear drawer. But it barely lasted a moment, and when he was done Voldemort leant back and laughed his cold piercing laugh.

"Really, Severus? Oh, how deliciously… _Byronic_. And a mudblood romance as well! A depraved schoolgirl couldn't have thought up such a preposterous conceit!"

The speed with which he cast the unforgivable was more than astonishing.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The speed with which Dumbledore magically propelled Snape out of the way was even more so. He lay on the moist, dark soil with the wind knocked out of him, hearing only vaguely the sizzle of magic, and barely seeing flashes of the reds and blues and yellows through the spots swimming in front of his vision. When he got to his feet, the battle had resumed in full force, with Dumbledore and Voldemort locked at the center of it in a silent and ferocious duel. The pace was impossible, the skill unparalleled, and spell after spell was cast and diverted, parried and dodged.

And then, one finally hit home. Voldemort exhaled a hiss of aggressive victory, and watched as Albus Dumbledore was cut from chest to thigh with a gleam in his eye. Snape heard Harry yell and saw him run from where he and Ron had been facing Dolohov to Dumbledore's side. Snape unthinkingly returned the few spells shot his way as he hurried to them.

He could hear Voldemort laughing and a male voice somewhere to their left waveringly shout out the killing curse. He didn't know who it hit. All he knew was that the man who had saved his soul had more of his blood soaking into the dirt than he had left in his frail and broken body. He heard Hermione at his side muttering something, and valiantly, at her coaxing, some of Dumbledore's skin attempted to knit itself back together.

"No…leave it."

Harry reached for Dumbledore's wand where it had fallen at his side. He brought it to the old Wizard's torn chest, and their hands met there, clutching it.

"Harry, Oh, you lucky boy."

Harry couldn't help himself, he let out a little laugh in disbelief.

"Lucky? Sir?"

"To be so loved…"

His blue eyes looked out from behind their broken half-moon spectacles at each of them.

"All of you. You must remember that that is where…"

It was getting harder for him to speak, and red bubbles of saliva began to drip into his silver whiskers.

"… true power lies. Ah! Tom. He's got it all so wrong."

And he was still.

Slowly, the reality of the situation leaked back into the picture. The battle still raged about them. Mad-Eye had just fallen at Voldemort's hand. Bellatrix had backed Neville into a wall of the Manor, and the duel looked unfairly balanced, almost as if she were toying with him. Charlie had disapparated with his older brother. Molly and Ginny were back to back, fighting off at least five masked Death Eaters.

The three stayed crouched around Dumbledore's body, until a shockwave fizzled about them. A powerful spell had just slammed into an unseen barrier around them. A split-second later Ron was with them,

"Are ya' idiots? ' Sitting ducks here. If I hadn't cast that protection spell you'd all be dust! Honestly, pay attention!"

"I'm paying attention."

Harry slowly stood up. His eyes were on the doors of the Manor, and there, huddled in the doorway was a woman in a ripped dress cradling her head in her hands, gently rocking back and forth.

Harry glanced at them all.

"Follow my lead."

And he stepped out into the fray.

"Voldemort. "

The din began to die down.

"VOLDEMORT!"

He turned, and stepped over the body of Stritch. The black hems of his robes were soaked in blood and dirt.

"Oi! Yeah, you with the snub nose! I'm talking to you."

"The Boy-Who-Lived, so you're ready to die?

"You're crazy, you know that?" He turned around, addressing the Death Eaters, "You all know that?" He rounded back on Voldemort.

"You know you blamed me for all those years for almost killing you when I was a baby… but do you know what really happened? All that happened was that my mother _loved _me, and somehow because of that, your spell rebounded back onto you. I don't know how it worked; Dumbledore didn't even know how it worked. It was _magic_, I guess."

"And you are such the expert? From what I've seen you haven't the learning or the discipline to transfigure yourself out of a paper bag."

"Nope. Not much learning, and really not a lot of discipline. But you know what? You've tried to kill me what… five, six times, and you've never even broken a bone. I've been hurt more by quidditch than by you!"

Voldemort wouldn't take that sitting down, he cast the same Sectumsempra spell that had done in Dumbledore, but Snape, Ron and Hermione had all cast protection spells around him. It crackled into nothingness.

Harry continued.

"You think you know _anything_? I've been in your head! Spent months peeking in there, and you know what, I think there's only one thing in this whole world you know: Hate. Every ounce of you feels it. It breeds in you. You see the world through this warped pair of glasses, where everything reflects back as a threat to you. And that makes me pity you. You've spent your whole existence on hate. Wasted it. Every threat you've made, every person you've killed, every life you've ruined, you've done it pursuing something… power, or knowledge, or (I'm probably giving you more credit than you deserve here) a sense of belonging. Hell, maybe at this point you don't even have to have a reason anymore. Except, you never even realized that the thing you are lacking, that answer you're always just short of reaching, can never be found through hate."

"Ah! Listen to lion-hearted Potter, here to lecture me on the futility of hate. Are you here to tell me to stop and smell the roses, sing a happy song, bathe in the sunlight? Believe, me, boy, I've heard that old fool's line a time or two. Are you going to presume to tell me to believe in the power of _love?"_

"No. EXPELLIARMUS!"

"AVADA KEDAVRA"

Just as it had once before, the two spells mingled in the air. This time, though, Harry wasn't alone.

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

Ron, Hermione, Severus, Ginny, Neville, McGonnagall, Molly… everyone added their voice to the spell. Slowly, Voldemort's Wand was rent from his grasp. His spell broke into the ether as the wand floated up over his head, quivered, fighting against the power that had taken control of it, and finally burst into pieces.

Voldemort stood stunned for a second, facing a hill where only minutes before most of his supporters had been staunchly fighting in his name. Now, all but a handful had disapparated. Bellatrix began to shriek at a retreating puff of smoke.

"Traitors! Filthy Blood-Traitors, The Dark Lo-"

She really shouldn't have ignored Neville.

"Petrificus Totalus!" She fell flat on her face.

The last masked Death Eater had abandoned him. However, Lord Voldemort began to laugh.

"You've only disarmed me. Wormtail, give me your wand."

Snape hadn't seen hide nor hair of Wormtail all morning and had he been a betting man, he would have placed even money on him having scarpered even before the fighting began. Voldemort, for some reason, still expected him to come.

He continued to laugh as he cautiously began to back towards the Manor…a nervous unhinged laugh that held more than a hint of panic in it. He circled wildly, bending into a crouch, unwilling to ever completely turn his back to them, even though no one on the hill had made any movement to hurt him.

"Tom,"

Voldemort turned and faced Harry once more, hate and anger burning brightly on his face.

"I know you're way past believing in the power of Love… What I want to know is why you ever stopped believing in _magic."_

Uncomprehending, even unto the very end, Voldemort only smiled and turned back to the doorway.

And there, mostly hidden by shadows, stood the woman in the tattered dress. She reached into a pocket that she didn't know she had to pull out the object that should never have existed. It happened as quickly as a blink. And then the knife was buried in his eye to the hilt. And as she looked at the warm vitreous fluid that anointed her broken fingers, he fell in a heap of black robes at her feet.

Halfway down the hill, Severus watched him fall in confusion. He looked at the inside of his wrist, spit on it, and frantically scrubbed the blood and the dirt away.

The mark had left him.


	26. Twenty Five

Authors Note:

And so we reach the finish line. Thank you all for reading.

* * *

Hermione stood alone in her room.

She had just arrived back at Hogwarts, and the calm in the corridors had seemed eerie. It was a little after three, where was everyone? They should be flooding the halls after their last class. She'd apparated in with a small group. Luna was there she knew, she had felt her give her a hug just inside the doors and say something in her ear. The world seemed different, and her footsteps as she had made her way through the empty stone halls had echoed loudly back to her.

In her room, she saw her bookcase and her bed and a stray pair of trousers thrown sloppily on the floor, and her cat snuggled cozily in her chair. She stripped off her clothes, letting them fall where they may. And in a daze, numb with the exhaustion and confusion and pain of the day, she went to stand in her shower. She hoped that the scalding hot water could burn it all away.

The woman had refused to give them her name. She took their offer of a ferry back to the mainland, but she clearly just wanted to get away from there. Hermione couldn't blame her. According to Severus she'd been captive there for almost a month. Used for cooking, cleaning. Used for her body. Used up. When they'd searched the manor they'd found her room in the cellar. It contained the cot, and the lamp, and the basin she used everyday. And the corpse of the woman who had held her position there before, bent up in a corner beyond the point of putrefaction.

As the blood and dirt were washed away, they left brown rivulets running down Hermione's legs, pooling in a dingy whirlpool at her feet before being sucked away into the drain.

The battlefield was empty in the glaringly bright light of the morning. Charlie had apparated back in, just moments after Voldemort had been killed, with the second tier of defense. Lupin, and Mr. Weasley and the twins had helped them to get the injured off to Madame Pompfy, who was waiting in a slapped together triage unit in a field a few miles east of Hogwarts. In that field of bodies there on the hill, with the warm wind carrying thickly the smell of sweat and blood, the survivors picked through friend and foe alike, looking for signs of life. Hermione had seen Severus attempt to help Draco, as he huddled over a body slightly away from the main fray. The boy had lashed out at him, crying, choking himself with rage and grief, and finally collapsing once more onto the corpse. When later, finally, Severus made his way to her, and she had asked what happened, he said simply,

"He killed him. Draco killed his father,"

Madame Pompfry had mended the burnt skin over Hermione's left collar bone where someone had caught her with a powerful blast. As she tutted briefly over her patient, she mentioned that it was always the unknown magic that was the hardest to heal. The hair-line fractures in the bone had re-knitted well, she had told her, but her shoulder wouldn't feel quite right for a few weeks.

Now, even the pressure of the water on the large purple bruise was almost too much to take. The lingering ache seemed to go right through her.

Pompfry had certainly had her hands full. No one had emerged unscathed. McGonagall had a nasty cut over her left eye which she seemed to handily heal herself before impatiently waiting with Mr. Weasley and Kingsley Shaklebolt for Harry to have his cuts and bruises seen to. They were going to the Ministry to meet with the Order of Merlin. Hermione didn't even have the foresight to hope that the meeting went well, to hope that the hastily gathered list of Voldemort's supporters seen that day at the Manor wouldn't be challenged…. that the effect of what they had achieved that day wouldn't be drowned in tides of red tape. The only hope she held onto as she saw Harry apparate away to fight the second chapter of this war, was that someone would see to the fact that he needed a good, hearty breakfast. She would have said as much to him, but Pompfrey was in the middle of healing her collar bone just than, and she could only watch the light around her grow dim, as he melted out of her sight and she fought passing out from the pain.

It was funny; she only vaguely remembered being hit with anything. And the adrenaline must have masked the pain until things died down. Only when she was standing with Severus, and he motioned to her torn and bloody shirt had she even realized that she'd been injured.

She allowed herself to breathe in the steam, thick with the scent of her favorite apricot body scrub, and slowly, she began to feel human again. Voldemort was dead. Harry wasn't. This was good. Good. But then…

Dumbledore.

She would have cried until she ran out of hot water, but she wasn't even sure if that was possible at Hogwarts. Even so…

As her tears finally began to dry up, she realized that her fingers were more prune than flesh, and she got out of the shower. Finding out that her slippers, and her bathrobe, and a hot cut of Chamomile tea had lost none of their charm for her after today's ordeal registered somewhere in the outskirts of her consciousness. The fact comforted her somehow. Nothing was so terribly different, after all.

She thought about heading down to the Gryffindor Common Room, but she knew that Ron was at home with his family tonight, and she didn't really feel up to socializing, at least with anyone other than him and Harry. She hadn't slept for almost 36 hours, but strangely, sleep wasn't calling her quite yet. She knew that if Harry was done at the Ministry, he would be back in the Castle, but somehow she couldn't face seeing him, she felt she'd burst into tears again, and she didn't want to burden him with that, not now. She felt restless. She wondered if Severus felt the same.

He had left the triage unit before her, alone. He had been waiting for Pompfry with her, and once he was sure that she was being taken care of he just sort of slipped to the side and was gone.

He'd been injured, she was sure. She could see it in the way he held himself. She'd asked him about it, but he'd said it was nothing. Now, suddenly, sitting alone in her room, she felt as alone as she had ever felt. She would have given anything to find this infuriating, incomprehensible, wonderful man sitting beside her… for him to know that she wanted to share his pain and his grief… his thoughts, his joys, his burdens, trivial or significant.

And what she had was an absent man who wouldn't even tell her if he was alright or not.

And, like millions of women before her, Hermione Granger, sitting alone before a fire in the comfort of her armchair, came to a conclusion: Maybe the only way for a man to ever know, really know, that a woman wants him is for a woman to tell him.

She knew he felt some sort of reciprocal feelings for her, a million little things in addition to their kiss left no doubt in her mind. And the only way she was ever going to get him to act on them would be to make it perfectly clear that she wanted him to.

She threw on a cardigan over her camisole, and started down towards the dungeons.

She tapped the bricks, and called up the stairs,

"Severus!"

There didn't seem to be any lights on up there.

She realized that he was probably asleep, and slowly began to make her way up. The sun was setting and the orange light coming in the one high, arched window bathed the room in a slightly otherworldly glow.

"Severus," she spoke softly now. She'd never been in his bedroom before. The door was slightly ajar, and she knocked on it as she poked her head into the darkness within.

"I never wished you a happy Halloween!"

Still no answer.

She shut the door behind her back, and as she wordlessly conjured one of her little floating flames, she said,

"Trick or treat."

She didn't know what she had hoped to see. The wickedest part of her imagination could have given her any number of suggestions. And all of them certainly featured a certain dark-haired pale-skinned man rather prominently. But the room was empty. The bed had been impeccably made up, but there was already a feeling of abandonment and disuse permeating the place. She swallowed, and lit the overhead light. She went to the wardrobe. There were still clothes there, but a number of hangers were empty. She hurried back to the main room. Books, once anally organized, had been well picked though. Most of the little comforts of home remained, but she did notice that a little soapstone elephant that used to dwell on the mantelpiece was rather conspicuously absent.

She sat heavily in the nearest armchair. She felt an acute pain in her heart, but somehow, her brain, her lovely, reliable brain was reassuring her that this made complete, logical sense. Snape was stationed at Hogwarts. He would have never chosen this to be his life. He… suddenly she realized that she had no idea what he would have wanted instead. And she felt immense happiness at his freedom from that terrible life of lies on top of lies. She loved him, then, totally, and purely. She didn't even think, didn't even care to wonder how she may fit in… if she even could. She saw an empty apartment and knew that he had been given a life to start completely anew. That he finally had a chance at a life separate from this terrible game he had been a piece in for so many years.

* * *

Slowly, life at Hogwarts resumed with some semblance of normalcy. Sam and Sam stayed on, Samantha took up teaching Transfiguration for Headmistress McGonagall, and Samwell took over DADA. A blustery old fellow named Slughorn took over Potions and the Slytherin house. Apparently he had known Dumbledore a lifetime ago, and felt indebted to him in some way. Autumn faded into winter, and one night in early December the castle was silently blanketed in over a foot of fluffy white snow. Word was that the Ministry had had a successful overhaul under the watchful eye of the International Order of Merlin, First Class. Dumbledore had joked that when he was given his medal, they had said he was charged with "The protection of the magical realms" and that all any of the recipients ever did was sit around exchanging tales and polishing their prizes. It was about time that they did something useful.

Hermione's homecoming at Christmas was as joyful as any she had ever experienced. Her parents were suitably horrified and sympathetic when she recounted to them, yet again, what had happened that day. She couldn't get enough of arguing with her father over the temperature at which to bake cookies and allowing her mother to take her out to the shops. And truth be told she missed London. This was a part of her identity that she never really got to share with Ron and Harry, but Hermione was a Londoner through and through. Twilight walks on the Heath, her favorite coffee-shop just 'round the corner, and a never-ending supply of people to look at, and judge, and learn from, and co-exist with. Hermione lived for this comfortably ecstatic buzz that only being in a city like London can give you.

It was the week between Christmas and New Year's and she was walking with her parents out of a deli when she thought she saw him. Long, lean, straight dark hair. But he was gone before she could look twice. They got home, and put their groceries away. Her dad settled into his recliner with a crossword puzzle and her mother left to attend to an emergency root canal at the clinic.

Hermione had done a remarkable job of getting over Severus Snape. Really. She had barely thought of him for weeks. Only every time she was in potions, or every time she walked by his landing, or every time anyone said anything about anything… and damnit she wasn't over him at all. Now, even a glimpse of a stranger who happened to just look like him sent her mind racing... her stomach a-flutter. She couldn't sit still.

She threw on her coat and as she was headed out the door, hollered,

"Going 'round the corner for a cup of coffee, I'll be back soon!"

She walked back down to the deli, and then up into the Heath for a while, enjoying the bite of the wind in the cold winter sunshine.

Finally, when she was sure that her face was as red as her crimson pea-coat, she decided that she was probably crazy, and maybe a nice cuppa in the warmth was just what she needed.

She ordered her double cappuccino, staked out her favorite armchair in the window, and pulled out a book. She was deep into a terrible murder mystery when she heard a voice behind her.

"Is this seat taken?"

It didn't surprise her. Not really. It thrilled her, yes. It scared her, with all its implications. But she had been excepting it. That deep, soft timbre that she knew so well… she knew it was only a matter of time before she heard it again.

She smiled at him, reached up, and pulled him down to her by the collar of his coat. If she surprised him, it didn't take him long to get over it. He returned her kiss as enthusiastically, as tenderly, and as passionately as she ever could have hoped for. Undoubtedly, the people sitting in the coffee house must have thought it an awkward kiss; her sitting stubbornly on her chair, him bent at the waist, and apart from her hands and their lips, an unusual distance apart from one another. To them it was familiar, like coming home.

She pulled away, and he breathed in, unbuttoned his long charcoal-gray wool coat and sat down in the seat opposite her. He looked at her, waiting, almost warily, as though he expected her happiness at seeing him again to fade into something else altogether.

"McGonagall said you left without giving two weeks notice, and joked that she'd refuse you your severance package."

"Not a joke, actually,"

Hermione smiled.

"Hogwarts just isn't the same without you," She said it wistfully, jocularly, hoping that it didn't sound as insipid and needy as she thought it might.

"Oh, now you wouldn't wish to inflict me on another class of first years, just for your own selfish reasons!"

"Heavens no, spare them the horror,"

They both took measured sips of their drinks in the charged silence.

"I did look for you at Dumbledore's memorial service. I wish you'd been there."

"I've said goodbye to Albus in my own way. The pomp and speechifying wouldn't have suited him anyway."

"How'd you know, you weren't there. And I thought it was very tasteful. "

"I saw the article in the Prophet. And when you got your Order of Merlin."

"Most useless hunk of bronze I've ever seen in my life. And ugly to boot, I can't wear it with anything."

The both giggled a bit.

Hermione continued,

"You know, they'd love to pin one of those onto you if they can get you to stand still long enough. And a proper 1st class one at that, put my 3rd class to shame. "

"Good luck, I say."

"Severus?"

"Hm?"

"You're fine now, I see that. But you do know that day, you left, and I understand that you needed to get out of that entire situation, you needed to get a handle back on your own life, but you just left. You lied to me about being injured and then you were just gone. I've forgiven you, I think, but that was cruel."

She drug a finger through some foam at the bottom of her cup.

"…Just about the cruelest thing you could have done. For all I knew you were seriously injured. No one knew where you went or if you were OK,"

Severus worried his mug back and forth in his hands.

"I'm sorry. That was… inconsiderate of me. "

He put his mug down on the windowsill and leaned forward in his chair,

"But, Hermione, if you think that's the cruelest thing I could have done… the cruelest things I've done I hope you never have to know about. You don't know that part of me. I have no idea what Dumbledore told you three in your fifth year that made you start to trust me a bit, but no doubt it wasn't the whole story."

"Told us? He only ever told us one thing, that he trusted you. We started believing him when we took tally of how many times you had saved our asses, saw first hand how much work you put in at the Order. When we saw how much you had grown to respect me… good old Muggle-born me."

"It's not…"

"It's not, what? The truth? Listen, no doubt at some point in our acquaintance you may have noticed that I'm not an idiot. And if you want to sit here and try to talk me out loving you, and convince me that you are nothing more than the sum of you worst deeds, than be prepared for a debate, 'cause I've got loads of material for a pretty well-informed rebuttal. Severus, I have no idea what initially happened when you became a Death Eater, or why you chose to help Dumbledore, or any of it, and I know that if… when you chose to share that part of your life with me I'll probably hate you a little bit for it, for a little while at least, but that doesn't make what I know to be true about you now any less true. Understand?"

He looked terribly vulnerable, vulnerable and dangerous, like an animal in a cage, as he sat with his arms on his knees, his head hanging. She reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear and lifted his chin 'til his eye met hers.

"I do love you. And as far as I know, love isn't something we do to absolve someone of their sins, or reward their perfection. It's just sort of there. Like magic, it comes from a place I can't define."

He looked searchingly into her eyes for a moment before pulling her to him.

A few hours later, a couple emerged from a coffee shop out into a cold London street where people scurried homeward as the streetlights began to flicker on. The wind was biting, and a few sharp flurries were just beginning to sting at the ruddy faces of passersby. But the Winter's night couldn't reach them. Arm in arm the couple walked, embraced in the indomitable warmth of their own private Summer time.


	27. Epilogue

_Glasgow, 6 Months Later_

* * *

She wrapped her coat more tightly around her as she stepped out into the biting Spring breeze. Goddamn Scotland. No matter how warm the air was, how bright the sun, that perverse and perseverant wind was always there to remind her where she was. She remembered standing atop a hill outside of her Gran's house when she was little and used to come up North for holidays. She'd laugh at the wind as it leaked through the weave her woolen jumper to chill her skin, and she'd run back to the door with ruddy, chapped cheeks at her Mum's call.

It didn't feel like the same wind from her childhood now. Now that ever present Scottish wind spoke to her of nothing good, nothing but her time North.

She hadn't returned back home to Manchester afterwards. Once she got her voice back, she'd found a phone and called her mother. To let her know she was alive. To assure her, trying to cover the lie in her voice, the apathy, that she was OK. It didn't work, she knew. 300 Miles south her Mother was dying with worry. But she didn't have it in her to go home and to assuage these worries, to take care of her. She couldn't face it. She couldn't even begin to explain it.

She 'd been numb. She was still numb. It's just she realized that she couldn't be so numb that she couldn't walk, couldn't speak, couldn't work. It killed her that first night that she sought a free meal and a soft place to sleep, but she knew that she couldn't survive long otherwise. And she was sick of holding onto life by a tattered and tenuous thread. She had survived. She had leaned about herself that she would let nothing stand in her way of that. But thriving? She knew that, for now, that was perfectly, simply unfeasible. For now living was enough.

So she went through the motions, woodenly finding her way first into a temp office, then into a two room apartment, and now, somehow, it was six months later, and she was walking down the street towards the office block that she started at last Monday. She started towards the newsstand just down the block from her bus stop, like she had a few times before. Usually a short man, dark and hairy, sold her her paper. But today she didn't see him. There was a tall slender figure, his face hidden in a Hello Magazine.

She swallowed. Speaking to anyone was difficult. Even these small daily exchanges. She thought about forgetting it, getting one tonight, waiting for the hairy man who, in two weeks had already become a constant in her life. Change as most certainly bad. She palmed her keys inside of her purse, feeling them unwontedly lift above her palm, float into the empty space inside of the bag. She couldn't control it, this stange power... well that was almost true. More and more she was beginning to realize that she could, maybe, just a bit.

She was just at the newsstand when they levitated directly out of her purse and onto the sidewalk. The man behind the booth leaned out, presumably to help, but she had already picked them up and was prepared to thank him anyway and continue on her way.

She looked up and her heart stopped. She knew this face. She'd seen it's sharp curves and it's cold grey eyes far to closely, she'd had that white blonde hair stuck with sweat to her neck, her back.

But he looked at her with a sort of well-mannered concern, and she realized that she was mistaken. But something about it was still familiar.

"Can I get you anything?"

She had barely regained her feet, and her heart was in her throat.

"Times, please."

Did she know him, or was it just an unfortunate resemblance?

And then it hit her, he had been there on the last day. She had seen him. But she had almost convinced herself that that day had never happened. It would have been easier if that damned knife weren't tucked in a drawer with her kitchen towels at home.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

He handed her her paper.

"Don't think so. Draco Malfoy. Nice to meet you."

She reached out and took his hand.


End file.
